


Poet.

by OneEqualTemper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Library, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Nightmares, Post-War, Romance, Scars, Slow Build, Tennyson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneEqualTemper/pseuds/OneEqualTemper
Summary: “Uh...Malfoy? Did you knock your pretty head into a wall this morning?” Ginny questions and slides into her spot next to Hermione.Hermione gives her a quick glare, her eyes begging her to just leave it alone. Ginny ignores Hermione’s look and waits for Malfoy to answer. Malfoy does his best to ignore the red-headed Witch.“Hello? Anyone in there?” Ginny questions and waves her hand in front of him.Hermione grabs the Witch’s hand and pulls it down to the table, “He can sit here if he wants.”Ginny scoffs but keeps her hand down on the table, “What’s wrong with his own table?”“Ginny, stop,” Hermione hisses at her friend. “We’re friends. He can come and sit here anytime he wants.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 86
Kudos: 282





	1. Prélude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was outlined over a weekend. The creative brief was written to the tune of The Well-Tempered Clavier by Johann Sebastian Bach. Each chapter has a classical song that I feel matches the theme. It will be linked at the start of each chapter. You are under no obligations to listen to it, I just feel it adds to the story.
> 
> It’s a slow build story, maybe not overly exciting for many but full of emotion. I’ve taken what I can from the Wizarding World universe and supplemented whatever I couldn’t find. I’m a writer by education and trade who took a keen interest in pre-20th century literature and poetry in school. In my opinion, poetry, literature and music are all about emotion and determining what it means to you.
> 
> I feel like I should also make it clear that I do not support the views of J.K. Rowling and instead find myself enamoured with the Wizarding World of Harry Potter that she created. These are not my characters, or my world, I’m merely spending some time there.
> 
> I hope you enjoy Poet.

#  _Prélude._

* * *

[Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: I. Prélude](https://open.spotify.com/track/17i5jLpzndlQhbS4SrTd0B)   
Written by: Johann Sebastian Bach  
Performed by: Yo-Yo Ma

* * *

_Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'_

_We are not now that strength which in old days_

_Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;_

_One equal temper of heroic hearts,_

_Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will_

_To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield._

* * *

At a certain point last year, she never thought she’d be here again. She never thought she’d be in a train compartment looking out at the Scottish landscape on her way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She never thought she’d have the chance to live a normal life.

She thought she’d be hiding in a tent in the forest for the rest of her life: feeling the springs of the uncomfortable cot pressing into her back, the dark emotions that came with wearing the locket, the feeling of all of her belongings cold and wet. For a long time she thought that’s all she’d have for the rest of her life, but at least she’d have her two best friends with her.

Instead, Hermione finds herself heading back to the school that started it all, no longer sleeping in the Forest of Dean or running for her life. No longer dueling with dark wizards or using curses and spells she hoped she’d never have to. It almost doesn’t make sense, almost feels like it never happened. But it did, the Final Battle took place less than four months ago throughout the castle she called home for six years. She remembers how destroyed the castle looked in those last moments on the bridge with Harry and Ron. It was hard to believe that the school was ready to accept students again.

A knock on the compartment door breaks Hermione out of her thoughts and she gives Ginny a small smile as she takes a seat across from her. Ginny looks more mature, more like an adult. They all do now though, she supposes. They’ve all been through something that’s left marks on their bodies and their psyche.

“It feels weird doesn’t it?” Ginny asks, gripping the bench seat of the compartment. 

Hermione nods, “It almost feels wrong.”

It feels wrong that Hermione is able to go on with her life but so many of her classmates lost theirs. She finds it difficult not to think of all the people that are no longer with them, but certain situations and feelings drive faces from her past into her thoughts. 

“I wish Harry and Ron decided to come back,” Ginny admits. Hermione can see nails marks on her palms from squeezing her hands into tight fists, a side-effect of anxiety. 

Hermione makes a noise in agreement and sighs as she looks back out the window. She wishes they decided to come back too, but Harry’s offer was too good to be true. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement sought him out less than a month after the Final Battle, offering him a job as an Auror in their Investigation Division to help them seek out any Death Eaters and dark wizards who had fled rather than turn themselves in. They’d decided to wave the five N.E.W.T.s required, his defeat of Lord Voldemort enough for them.

Ron followed in the footsteps of his older twin brothers, deciding that his future, too, lay outside the world of academic achievement. He joined George at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, filling the hole left by the death of Fred. Hermione knew George was grateful and so was Mrs. Weasley. Hermione understood. 

The trip on the train seems longer than before, definitely safer in any case. There’s no one chasing her any longer, no evil presence just out of reach or floating in her peripheral. It feels odd not to be tense all the time and worrying, just to be herself with only her schooling and future career to think about. 

Both Neville and Seamus join the two witches in their compartment, each not as happy as they probably should be. Grateful, but not exactly happy. Their arrival in Hogsmeade is a welcome distraction as Hermione can go through the usual routine. They’re familiar actions: get off the train, ensure her trunk is placed in the pile of student luggage, stand in line, get on a carriage. It’s not until she’s in front of the castle that she realizes she can now see the thestrals pulling the carriage.

Almost everyone can now, she thinks.

She gives small waves and brief smiles to her friends and acquaintances as she and Ginny walk into the castle and head towards the Great Hall for the feast. It’ll be her first welcome feast without Professor Dumbledore, but she’s sure Professor McGonagall will bring some familiarity. The castle looks the same as it ever did, not a stone out of place. She can’t help the flashes of broken walls and destroyed stone floors. She visibly flinches as she walks into the Great Hall.

The last time she was here it had been in pieces, with bodies collected along the walls and families and friends grieving together. Her feet stop moving and she stands in the doorway, likely in the way of anyone walking behind her. She peers at the left wall, seeing a vision of Fred’s body as clear as day, his bereaved family surrounding him. She looks at the tables, remembering Mrs. Weasley’s duel with Bellatrix Lestrange. Her eyes flit to the Gryffindor table, her breath in her throat as she sees the bodies of Remus and Tonks, fingers touching even in death. 

A choked sound catches in her throat. Ginny must notice Hermione is no longer beside her and she turns to look at the curly-haired witch. Hermione feels frozen. A soft touch to her shoulder and the presence of a large body behind her seems to push her out of her thoughts. 

“Are you alright?” A deep male voice questions from behind her. She can’t place the voice, not sounding familiar to her, but she slowly nods and urges her feet to move. She forces her right foot to move, then her left, then her right again. She slowly finds herself walking towards Ginny until Ginny reaches for her hand, gives it a tight squeeze and pulls her to sit down next to her.

She gives Ginny a sad smile and mumbles out that it was “just a bit of a shock,” as she stares down at the table. Are these the same tables? Had they simply been cleaned? Maybe they’re brand new, and not saturated with the blood of her friends and allies. Hopefully.

She shuts her eyes tightly as she feels the beginnings of tremors working their way through her shoulders. Not here, she thinks, forcing her shoulders to stay still. She tenses her whole body, squeezing her eyes tight. She lets out a shaky breath at the feeling of Ginny’s hand on hers.

“Hermione?” Ginny asks, concern laced in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Hermione whispers, opening her eyes and giving a tight smile to the red-headed witch beside her.

She slowly flexes her fingers then turns her neck from side to side. Neville is sitting in front of her, a question on the tip of his tongue but Hermione gives him a reassuring nod of her head. She’s fine.

“I’m surprised to see Malfoy,” Ginny mumbles, twisting in her seat to look back at the Slytherin table.

“Malfoy’s here?” Hermione asks. She isn’t exactly surprised. The last she had heard from Harry, the Malfoy’s had been cleared of any potential charges with their Eleventh Hour change of heart. She isn’t upset though, Narcissa Malfoy had proved to be instrumental in the changing tide and she’s forever grateful for the woman’s lie. 

“Yes, right there at the Slytherin table with Nott. Didn’t he just say something to you, in the doorway?” Ginny motions with her head.

Hermione turns around slowly, her eyes running over the faces sitting at the Slytherin table before landing on two heads of blond and brown hair: Malfoy and Nott. They’re sitting at the end of the table, both looking slightly bored, but chatting with each other over their place settings. Malfoy seems… big, bigger than she remembered him. His shoulders are broad, filling out his robes more so than usual. She remembers him lankier than this. Nott looks mostly the same, still tall and thin.

“He spoke to me?” Hermione questions, eyes still on the Slytherin duo.

“Well he was standing behind you in the doorway. I assumed he said something because you started moving after that,” says Ginny, playing with her utensils beside her plate.

Hermione narrows her eyes when she sees Malfoy grin at Nott. It’s odd to see him smile when it isn’t meant to be mean. And was that really his voice? It was deeper than she remembered, a baritone rising from his throat.

“Oh yeah, I guess he did,” Hermione trails off.

Professor McGonagall makes her way to the front then and the Great Hall quiets. It’s strange to see her standing there in the place she had seen Professor Dumbledore stand year after year. The whole situation is strange and the longer she sits there, listening to Professor McGonagall go over the usual start of year information, it feels more wrong. For the first years, they’re heading into the start of their school careers without fear, other than the usual first-day-of school jitters.

Hermione floats through the feast, eyes wandering through the sorting ceremony, nibbling on roast chicken and a pumpkin pasty before her housemates rise from their seats and head to Gryffindor Tower. Ginny grabs her wrist and they wander together in the mess of Gryffindors, going back to their home for the rest of the year. It’s odd, Hermione thinks, being back. It’s stranger to see herself four months prior rushing down the stairs with Ron and sending off a spell aimed at Fenrir Greyback as he…

She shakes her head at the thoughts and follows Ginny up and through the portrait. The Gryffindor common room looks like it always has, dark with red tapestries and comfy red furniture. Her classmates are already sprawled out enjoying their first night back in the castle. 

“Hey Hermione, there’s a note here for us,” Neville calls out to her. “We get our own rooms, it looks like.”

Hermione wanders over and accepts the note that’s addressed to all the students returning for an additional seventh year. The new Headmistress had apparently decided the returning students are due some additional privacy this year, as not all the students returned. Hermione’s room is still located over where the girls' dorms are.

She says goodnight to her friends and shrugs off Ginny’s look of concern, climbing the steps to the new door and her brand new room. In all honesty, she’s happy she gets her own room and doesn’t have to stay in her usual dorm. It would’ve been strange to be up there all on her own, especially once she saw Lavender Brown’s bed. They might not have been great friends, but the memory of her body being ravaged by Greyback was more than her mind could bear.

Hermione settles into bed that night anxious about the first day of classes.

* * *

She’s back in the Forest of Dean, she can smell it and feel the cool dewy air. It smells like dirt and moss, like rain and cold. There’s a chill in the air and her shoulders shiver. Her back aches from the squished springs of the cot. She’s tried as many spells as she can think to fix it but they never seem to work. Hermione stares up at the ceiling of the tent, eyes seeking out the familiar ripples.

Wait…this isn’t right. Didn’t she fall asleep in a real bed surrounded by stone walls? There was warmth and comfort, a different kind of familiarity. Not this, not the cold. Not the fear she could feel creeping through her bones.

Her eyes suddenly shoot open, eyes wide but no light shining through. She reaches to the nightstand for her wand and whispers “Lumos,” seeing the stone ceiling and walls, a red comforter and a door. It’s Hogwarts. She’s safe, it’s been months since she was in the Forest of Dean.

She’s safe.

* * *

She slides into her seat in her first Charms class that morning letting out a shaky breath. She slept through breakfast thanks to her dream the previous night and had just enough time for a quick shower and to put on her uniform. Ginny slides into the seat next to her and gives her a soft smile. It’s weird, she thinks, now sharing classes with Ginny. Ginny who she always considered so young even though she was only one year behind them.

“I slept in,” Hermione sheepishly mumbles to Ginny as an explanation for her absence at breakfast. 

Ginny nods and pats Hermione’s hand that’s clenched into a fist on the tabletop, “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to wake you. I can from now on, if you want.”

Hermione gives a small smile and nods, it’s probably for the best if someone does. Professor Flitwick starts their lesson then and Hermione dips her quill into her ink pot, taking notes and falling into her usual self. It’s a welcome distraction, no longer stuck in her own mind and thoughts. Instead she diligently takes notes on Professor Flitwick’s lesson on the Protean charm, something she’d already managed to master in her fifth year. She takes the notes anyways, she wouldn’t be Hermione Granger if she didn’t.

“Now I know some of us here have already mastered the Protean charm, which is very impressive - very impressive indeed - but it’s a perfect N.E.W.T. level charm that will impress your proctor during exams!” Professor Flitwick spares a glance at Hermione at this remark.

“It was notably used during the war by some of our brave students to link objects as a way to send messages and communicate,” Professor Flitwick continues.

Ginny sends a jab to her leg then, giving her a big grin and mouthing, “I wonder who this is about…”

Hermione sticks her tongue out, barely past her lips, when she notices movement out of the corner of her eye. She immediately sees Malfoy’s white-haired head glancing at her as he takes notes. He’s peering at her inquisitively but Hermione looks back down at her parchment. She chews on her lip and tunes back into the lesson, copying down the proper wrist movements to complete the charm. Did Malfoy also know Professor Flitwick was referring to her?

She goes through her other classes on autopilot, takes notes during Ancient Runes and Potions and lets out a litany of curse words (they’re encouraged) while collecting the poisonous juice from a venomous tentacula. Her day feels so normal and familiar that she finds herself turning to Ginny and calling her Harry or Ron multiple times during their shared Potions class. 

It’s only after dinner that she feels slightly more relaxed having made it through her first day of classes in more than a year. She follows the familiar path to the library and even smiles at Madam Pince who’s sitting at the front desk. Finally, the smell of parchment and old books, burning candle wax and dusty surfaces. Home.

Hermione takes a seat at an empty table in the corner near the Alchemy section of the library. She knows from past experiences it’s an underused area of the library, with very few, if any, students choosing to take Alchemy in their sixth and seventh years. She works on the essay on the differences between the Cough Potion and Hiccoughing Solution in the silence of her favourite place in Hogwarts.

More than an hour goes by before she places her quill down and flexes her fingers. She rolls her neck and her shoulders and waits for the essay to dry before rolling it up and tucking it into her book bag. She takes the opportunity to glance around the library to see if anyone else has joined her in this dusty corner. The sight of Malfoy and Nott is both surprising and not. 

Malfoy had always been studious before his disastrous sixth year. His marks were always close to hers and a lot of it seemed to come quite naturally to him. Just a little bit of extra studying and he’d probably be in direct competition with her. Nott she wasn’t sure about, but she’d noticed him in three of her N.E.W.T. classes today so he couldn’t be all that daft. No, he looked the intelligent type too, now that there was no Dark Lord to take up his attention.

Her staring must alert the two Slytherins because both turn to look at her, questioning looks filling their eyes. Hermione blushes as she’s caught and looks back down at the desk. Time to go, she supposes.

She gathers up her books and writing utensils, packing her extendable book bag and throws her robes over her arm. This late in the evening, with the warmth of the library fires, her robes simply seem to bury her in heat. Instead she prefers the feel of the cold air on her forearms and knees, keeping her alert.

A quick glance down at her forearm lets her know the glamour is still in place and she walks towards Malfoy and Nott’s table which she must pass to get to the library doors. She slides behind Malfoy’s chair and the bookcase, getting a look at their essays on the table and Malfoy’s wand placed next to him. Is that…? She’d have to ask Harry.

Nott flashes her a smile as she shimmies away from their table and Hermione gives him a nervous smile back. Had he ever smiled at her before? Not likely. She finds herself rushing out of the library faster than is appropriate and gives Madam Pince an apologetic look as she berates the curly-headed witch.

“This is not the quidditch pitch,” Madam Pince grumbles.

Too right, Madam Pince, too right you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Protean charm** : Hermione uses the Protean charm in fifth year for the DA and connects fake galleons to communicate the time and date of their next meeting.
> 
> **Prélude** : The Cello Suites are interesting pieces because for a long time they were regarded as studies and not pieces to be performed. There are six Suites and each Suite has six structures but No. 1 in Prélude is my favourite. You can listen to the others [here](https://open.spotify.com/album/2OpnKgmVYPEN2GldgBponI?si=HbEbpwM7RqOMNXR_v0mf0w).


	2. Nocturne

#  _Nocturne._

* * *

[Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. Posth.](https://open.spotify.com/track/2MSgFefjK0T7Iwjvr3OKqV)   
Written by: Frédéric Chopin  
Performed by: Mikhail Pletnev

* * *

“They work us to death in this place,” Ginny grumbles at their study table in the library. “I can’t believe how much work there is to get done. I hardly have time to get the quidditch tryouts running.”

Hermione hums in agreement, tapping the feather end of her quill against her lips. It is a lot of work, but the work feels good in Hermione’s head. It fills the places where the memories break through and doesn’t allow her thoughts to wander. Sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s only been four months since that fateful night of the Final Battle. Yet here she is, pretending life is normal and like she hadn’t just recently crept down into the Chamber of Secrets to remove a Basilisk fang and stab Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem.

Hermione shakes her head to rid herself of the thought and looks back at Ginny. The petite red-headed witch packs up her belongings and pushes her chair out of the way. Her hair has grown long and Hermione often finds herself pulling bright red hairs off of her jumper and sometimes out of her inkpot. 

“Have you heard from Harry lately?” Hermione asks politely. Harry had sent her a letter on the second day of school, telling her he missed her and some part of him wished he had gone back to school. After all, Hogwarts was the first home he’d ever had. He now lives in a tiny flat near Diagon Alley that doesn’t get much use with his constant travel.

She had written back asking if he returned Malfoy’s original wand at some point, which she was sure she saw during that first night in the library. The last she was aware, Harry still had it. He had yet to answer her.

Ginny’s face lights up at the mention of her boyfriend, “Yes, he wrote to me just yesterday again. He sounds so busy all the time, going here and there catching Merlin knows who. But he sounds mostly happy so I suppose I can’t be too cross with him.”

Hermione gives her friend a grin, “That’s good to hear then. And Ron?”

“Nothing from him, but Mum wrote to let me know that he and George are creating a new line of Defence Against the Dark Arts items that were popular with the Ministry before the Final Battle. It sounds like he’s busy,” Ginny trails off. “You never did say what happened between the two of you.”

Hermione tries to hide the grimace, maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the second-youngest Weasley. She and Ron just...aren’t compatible. And despite the beliefs of some, it was a mutual decision after some very uncomfortable and awkward dates. It just wasn’t working, not anymore, not without the impending sense of doom they felt everyday for seven years.

She tries to tell herself that not every friend or relationship is meant to be a long lasting one, sometimes people are in your life at a certain time for a reason. Their romantic relationship had fulfilled its purpose the night of the Final Battle, and they both understood that.

“Maybe it’s better to ask Ron, but I swear it was a mutual decision,” Hermione explains. “It just didn’t feel right any longer.”

Ginny gives a small nod before leaning back into a long stretch and letting out a groan. Hermione looks down at her watch to see it’s already 8:30 p.m., with only an hour and a half until curfew. 

“I’m going to head to bed,” Ginny yawns out. “I’ve got tryouts to lead tomorrow morning at 9. Will I see you before at breakfast?”

Hermione gives a small nod and wiggles her fingers, “I will do my best.”

Her nightmares have yet to abate. To be honest, she expected them to continue at Hogwarts but she hoped they’d go away soon. They were the same every night, their tent from the Forest of Dean appearing before her eyes. For a few seconds she’s always convinced she’s awake and still in the midst of the war. She supposes she’s lucky it isn’t something worse, Merlin knows she’s seen enough horrors. 

Ginny gives her a small wave and heads to the exit, passing Malfoy’s and Nott’s table on the way out. The two Slytherins are always so quiet, Hermione thinks to herself. They seem to appear out of thin air, always studying quietly and never bothering her. It’s almost too out of character. But at this point in their lives, after a war that lasted far too long, she supposes they’re all here for the same reasons. 

Her attention goes back to her essay on the best ways to collect the juice of the venomous tentacula. Hermione has been lucky so far, her skin staying fair and no burning sensation to report, but some of her classmates… well they haven’t been so lucky. Being poisoned by a venomous tentacula isn’t lethal, but creates a burning sensation throughout the body and turns the skin a vibrant purple. To her surprise, the victim hadn’t been Neville in class today - he really does have an aptitude for herbology - but a boy the same age as Ginny. Professor Sprout tsked in disapproval and sent him up to the hospital wing, not seeming the least bit bothered that his skin was turning the brightest shade of violet.

Professor Sprout never really did seem bothered though, always rolling with the punches and chatting away with Neville as they discussed plants. She’s a bit of a strange one, Hermione thinks. 

It’s then that a chair moves at her table and catches her eyes and before she can look up, Draco Malfoy sits down at her table with all of his belongings. He places his books down on the table alongside his parchment and inkpot, slinging his book bag on the back of his chair. Hermione’s too surprised to say anything and closes her mouth as quickly as it drops open. Malfoy barely spares her a glance and goes right back to his work. Hermione narrows her eyes slightly and looks back at his usual table to find it empty, Nott seemingly gone. 

Her eyes flick back down to her own table and she watches Malfoy’s hands as he dips his quill into the inkpot and continues his essay. His hands are pale and big, his fingers long, nails and cuticles short and neat. For the first time, Hermione has a close up view of the signet ring Malfoy wears on his right ring finger, a snake it looks like. She’s seen the rings on the hands of other Slytherin’s before, but never this much detail.

Hermione feels her cheeks burn and are most definitely a bright shade of pink, so she picks up her quill once more and puts the finishing touches on her own essay. The two work in complete silence, neither gesturing to the other nor offering any semblance of greeting. 

She finds his hands distracting. She sees them out of the corner of her eye while she’s writing and contemplates their softness and weight. Does he have a firm grip? It appears so with the way he holds his quill. Is he capable of touching something lightly? Are his hands cold or warm? Do his fingers feel bony? She can see the veins peeking out from under his pale skin, running light blues lines from his middle finger down to his wrist.

It must be late, Hermione thinks, and gathers her books. She rolls up her parchment once she’s sure it’s dry and tucks it into her book bag. The essay isn’t due for a few days but why not get it finished early? She grasps her inkpot and her textbook, freezing when her quill rolls closer to Malfoy. Without another thought she picks up her quill, mutters a very quiet “sorry” and throws it into her book bag. 

Her legs feel like jelly when she finally leaves the table without another look back.

* * *

She’s greeted with a letter from Harry when she finally gets to her room that night. She stayed behind in the common room for a little while, chatting with her housemates. It’s the first friday of the year and yet everyone seems happier to spend the evening in, tired after an entire week of normalcy. She carefully pries open the seal on the letter and lets her eyes run across the words until she sees the words “Malfoy” and “wand.”

_ To answer your question Hermione, yes that’s Malfoy’s original wand. The first time I saw him over the summer, when he and his father came in to give us some more information, I gave it back to him. It was of no use to me any longer. I know it’s not certain whether a wand will behave again for its original owner after it has been won but I felt like it needed to go back to him, where it belonged. Is he using it? If so, I’m glad. Even though I won it, it never seemed in tune with me. _

She knew she recognized the wand. After all, Harry had used it throughout the Final Battle. It’s Hawthorne, Hermione thinks to herself, but can’t remember the core. Hermione changes into her nightclothes with thoughts of Malfoy’s hands running through her head. By the time her head hits the pillow, her thoughts of Malfoy have changed.

She doesn’t recognize it at first, only looking up at a dark ceiling. She can feel cold flooring beneath her, stone maybe… but smoother. Tile? No. Marble. It’s marble flooring. And the cold is seeping through her bones. All of a sudden she starts to hear a high pitched noise, as if it’s coming from a different room. The sound is smothered by something. She strains to hear it, closing her eyes again. 

The sound gets louder, the pitch rising, the noise gives her gooseflesh. Until…why is her jaw so sore? And why is her throat so scratchy? Her bones are aching too. But then she recognizes it. She can hear it clear as day now, feel the noise coming from her own throat. She’s screaming, loud and clear. There’s a presence over her and she keeps her eyes shut tighter. Don’t open your eyes, Hermione. Keep them closed, this isn’t real, she tries to tell herself.

But then it’s quiet again, except for the sound of her breathing. She’s panting and sweating, clenching her hands into fists.

“Open your eyes,” a voice commands from above her. She shakes her head in the negative, no. She squeezes them shut tighter.

“Open them.” Hermione’s shaking now on the floor, her jaw trembling, tremors running down her arms, down her back, cramping her calves and her toes. She feels tears running down her cheeks. This isn’t real, she thinks to herself, wake up, this isn’t real.

“Open your eyes, Hermione.”

Her eyes snap open to see grey ones staring back. 

It turns out her screaming translated to real life and woke up almost all of Gryffindor House. She opens her eyes for real this time and sees Ginny grasping her hand and sitting on the side of her bed. Hermione looks around wildly and sees Neville standing in the doorway, a cool wet cloth in his hand. Thankfully, no one else is in her room looking at her drenched in sweat and panting.

Her shoulders are shaking and tremors are running down her arms. Ginny is trying to massage the muscles, pushing hard on pressure points. Hermione tries to take in deep breaths, tries to settle herself.

“You’re okay Hermione,” Ginny whispers. “You’re at Hogwarts. You’re safe.”

Hermione repeats her words, “I’m at Hogwarts. I’m safe.”

Her eyes flash to Neville and she notices him staring, but not into her eyes. She follows his sightline to her left arm, her scar out in the open and no longer covered by a glamour. She covers it with her hand, looking around for her wand but Neville shakes his head and looks down.

“I’m sorry Hermione,” he whispers, placing the cloth down on the night table. “I just...I haven’t seen it before now.”

Hermione licks her lips and nods in acknowledgement. Neville turns around and leaves, closing the door behind him. Her shoulders have stopped shaking now and Ginny turns to pick up the cloth, wiping away the sweat that’s collected at her temples.

“You shouldn’t cover it, you know,” Ginny says softly, glancing down at her arm.

Hermione sniffs and gives her friend a small shrug, “It makes people uncomfortable.”

Ginny scoffs, “It should. They should see it. They should know what you went through.”

* * *

As the days go by Hermione finds herself fussing with the glamour on her arm at least twice a day, just in case someone could by chance see it. She wasn’t lying to Ginny when she told her she covers it because it makes other people uncomfortable. She’s rather used to it by now, memorizing the letters with her fingers at night. But the few times anyone else has seen it, they stare at her with pity and she doesn’t want it.

Her classes continue and, surprisingly, so do her silent study sessions with Malfoy. Every evening without fail, once Nott has left the library, Malfoy saunters over with his belongings and joins her at the table in the corner near the alchemy books. He doesn’t speak to her, doesn’t even acknowledge her. Just sits and finishes his homework. Hermione usually leaves first, not wanting to get stuck leaving at the same time as Malfoy.

She tries not to look at him too closely, she really doesn’t want a repeat performance of her nightmare inside Malfoy Manor, although the change of scenery was nice. She’s tired of seeing the inside of that tent every night. 

This evening Hermione loses track of time, almost to the point she doesn’t even register that Malfoy is sitting across from her. This particular runic translation is the most difficult one she’s worked on tonight and it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier. She thought it would start to make sense once she was through the bulk of it, but it didn’t. She physically jumps as a voice disturbs her thoughts.

“Is that the third translation?”

Hermione looks up sharply at Malfoy who’s staring at her with a questioning look. She takes a good look at his face for the first time and immediately notices his hair is a little longer than it was. It’s still white-blond and perfectly straight. His face is still angular, though not as gaunt as it had been over the past two years. He looks healthy, his cheeks fuller than expected with a rosy tint to his lips. 

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asks.

Malfoy licks his lip and starts again, “Are you working on the third translation? For Ancient Runes…”

Hermione nods, no sound comes out of her mouth. It’s like she can’t make her mouth work, can’t open it. It’s just...clenched shut. She looks down at his parchment to see he’s also working on Ancient Runes translations and she goes to cover her own piece of parchment. 

Malfoy rolls his eyes and gives a small undignified snort, “I’m not trying to cheat off you. I was just asking.”

Hermione slowly moves her hand off of her work and nods again. She hopes her face looks apologetic but how was she supposed to know he wasn’t trying to take her answers? He’s a Slytherin. She clears her throat, “Yes I’m on the third translation. It’s trickier than the others, I find I still can’t make sense of it.”

Malfoy makes a noise in agreement and spins his parchment around to face her, translation now visible to her. She drops her eyes to the parchment and catches a few words that she’s also figured out then looks back up at him with her eyebrows raised. Did he want her to help him with his work?

“Maybe we can compare what we have so far, see if we’re missing something,” Malfoy proposes, pushing his parchment towards her on the table.

Hermione keeps her surprise inside and pulls her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth, “Yes I...I guess we could do that.”

Malfoy gives her a shallow nod and holds his hand out for her parchment. She cautiously hands it to him, watching his fingers grasp the page, then pulls his parchment the rest of the way to her. His writing is thin and neat, leaning to one side but not in an unreadable way. Some might describe it as spiky, but to her it just looks proper. 

To be honest, Hermione hadn’t even noticed him in her Ancient Runes class, although it was the one class she found she had to pay strict attention to and take detailed notes. The subject didn’t come as easily to her as others did. 

“This word here,” Malfoy says softly, pulling her attention to him. He points to a word on her parchment with the feather end of his quill. “It actually means a changeling, not a child.”

Hermione furrows her brows at that and flips through Spellman’s Syllabary. How does he know it’s changeling? She looks down at his own translation and sees he’s written the word child but crossed it out for changeling. Before she flips through more pages of the Syllabary, Malfoy is pushing his textbook towards her, pointing to a section.

“The only hints are the words surrounding it. See, the Syllabary says:  _ Some translations can result in multiple words, however the context of the sentence can help you come to an appropriate translation. If a word seems out of place, translate the rest of the sentence first _ ,” Malfoy reads, his voice soft and engaging. 

“So I translated the rest of the sentence, which seems to describe a fairy, not a human child. As it turns out, changeling is one of the accepted translations for these runes,” Malfoy explains, setting his book down and looking back up at Hermione.

Hermione clears her throat and accepts his explanation. He’s right, she wasn’t even thinking, didn’t even bother to translate the rest of the sentence before getting stuck on the fact the word child didn’t make any sense. She reads the rest of his translation and nods her head, quite impressed.

“You’re right, this all seems correct,” Hermione acknowledges quietly, moving to pass his parchment back to Malfoy. He puts his hand out to take the page back, his fingers nudging hers in the process. 

His fingers are warm, Hermione thinks. Well there’s her answer to that question.

Malfoy hands her parchment back too, and she spins it around to see he crossed out the word child in her feminine script, replacing it with changeling in his own masculine letters. Hermione stares at the word for longer than is normal, she’s sure, but the sound of Madam Pince coming around to let everyone know the library is closing as it’s nearly curfew brings her attention back to the Slytherin male sitting in front of her.

“Thank you for your help,” Hermione says, hoping hints of gratefulness come out in her words.

Malfoy shrugs it off, puts his items back into his book bag and answers back, “It’s no problem.”

This evening, Hermione and Malfoy leave the library together, turning in different directions as they leave to go back to their Houses at opposite ends of the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Changeling** : A fairy-child left in the place of a human-child when the human-child is stolen by fairies.
> 
>  **Nocturne** : There is a lot of history to this piece and it has been used in many movies. It's also an important part of history which I encourage you to read about [here](https://www.nationalreview.com/2020/03/frederic-chopin-nocturne-in-c-sharp-minor-meanings/).  
>    
>  I do hope you're all enjoying this. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself, and I definitely will not be able to update everyday, but hopefully this puts a smile on your face. Enjoy xx


	3. Caprices

#  _Caprices._

* * *

[24 Caprices, Op. 1: No. 24 in A Minor (Tema con variazioni. Quasi presto)](https://open.spotify.com/track/6cC6h5E351deEGFd7Kh9uy)   
Written by: Niccolò Paganini  
Performed by: Itzhak Perlman

* * *

“I hope you don’t mind if we both join you today,” Malfoy’s soft voice interrupts Hermione’s thoughts. She peers up at the two tall figures standing in front of her table in the library. One dark, one light. Both wearing green and silver Slytherin ties. Malfoy has a hidden look on his face but Nott has a bright smile, again.

Hermione gestures to the two seats in front of her at the table and moves her belongings closer to her own area of the table. Malfoy sits directly across from her and Nott diagonally. They both take out their books and parchment, content to work in silence for nearly 30 minutes.

“How do you two just sit here silently and work?” Nott asks, flicking his quill against his mostly empty parchment. Hermione glances up at the dark haired Slytherin and shrugs her shoulders. She peers over at Malfoy and sees him rolling his eyes.

“It’s not that difficult,” Malfoy trails off. “You just focus on your work.”

Nott scoffs and shifts in his chair until he’s leaning on top of the table. Hermione looks down at his arms and thin wrists, attached to bony hands and fingers. She looks back up at him and bites her tongue lightly.

“I thought it’d be more interesting to work with you,” Nott gestures to the two of them. “But it turns out I may as well study on my own.”

Hermione’s eyes flick to their usual table, now empty. “I mean, you’re more than welcome to.”

Nott presses his hand to his chest with an over-dramatic gasp. He looks from Hermione to Malfoy with feigned hurt, “You wound me Granger. I take it you don’t like my company.”

“That’s not it at all,” Hermione says quickly. She doesn’t know Nott all that well but it isn’t her intention to come across as rude. “I was just...I wasn’t...my work…”

Nott laughs at her attempt at an explanation but doesn’t get the chance to explain himself before Malfoy butts in with a sharp kick to his shin and a misty glare, “Don’t pay attention to him Granger, I don’t.”

Hermione turns to look at Malfoy when her surname leaves his lips. In their previous interactions they’d never actually addressed each other, just spoken about their work and hoped the other would answer. But now they’d moved into surnames and while Hermione called them by their surnames in her mind, she’d have to say it directly to them.

“Just sit and work Nott, or I’ll see you later in the common room,” Malfoy mutters, his quill moving swiftly on his parchment. Malfoy’s working on something she doesn’t recognize, it’s not one of the classes she’s taking, but she can’t see the cover of his textbook. She tries to read it upside down but can’t make out what he’s writing.

“No, I think I’ll stay,” Nott responds as he closes his textbook and rolls up his empty parchment. “I have yet to have an actual conversation with the resident swot sitting there. Although you are getting quite swotty in your old age.”

Hermione narrows her eyes at that comment. She’s aware she studies more than other students, she doesn’t need the reminder from Theodore Nott of all people. She glances over at Malfoy to see him huff and place his quill down on his parchment.

“We’re the same age Nott and I doubt Granger wants to entertain you when she has work to do,” Malfoy says, going back to his work. He almost looks like he’s scribbling and his penmanship seems to be slightly worse than she’d previously seen it.

Hermione bites her bottom lip and puts her quill down. She leans forward on her arms which are resting on the table and takes a look at Nott who gives her a cheesy smile, “What do you say Granger? Have some time for a poor bloke?”

Hermione rolls her eyes and gives him a soft scoff from her throat, “What do you want to know?”

Malfoy looks up at that, not expecting her to give in to Nott’s questions. Hermione can feel his eyes on her face and she’s sure her cheeks are heating up. Damn her freckled skin. She’s been cursed with blushing skin since she was a child, no matter the situation, no matter how badly she wished it wouldn’t show.

“Well first, how do you put up with him?” Nott asks, pointing at his blond-haired housemate who’s put his chin in his hand. Hermione can see his ring again glistening under the candles in the library.

Hermione looks down and prays her cheeks don’t get any more pink. How does she put up with Malfoy? Honestly, she sort of ignores him as much as possible. Once in a while they trade homework to compare answers and translations but they usually just work silently together.

“Well, we usually just work next to each other. There’s really nothing to put up with,” Hermione explains, chancing a glance at Malfoy. His expression doesn’t change with her words, so she thinks her answer is alright.

“Some of us can be quiet,” Malfoy mutters and puts his hands down flat on the table. He leans back in his chair and Hermione notices his tie is mostly undone, pulled loose so that it's hanging limply around his neck. Her eyes are glued to his neck, just above the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. His skin is so light, almost translucent. 

He’s attractive, Hermione thinks, then instantly berates herself. Good looking, she means. No, not good looking. He’s...decent looking for a Slytherin. He’s not ugly by any means. The shape of his face is conventionally attractive, all sharp angles and and symmetry. His fringe lays flat in front of his grey eyes. It’s such an unusual colour. For so long she thought his eyes were a very light blue, but looking at them now she sees they’re strictly grey.

“My turn,” Hermione says, surprising herself and both of the Slytherins. They look at her expectantly when Hermione notices the signet ring on Nott’s finger as well. “What’s the ring for?”

Malfoy flexes his hand and looks down at his silver ring. Nott wiggles his fingers and winks at Hermione before taking it off and flicking it across the table to the curly-haired witch. “It’s a Slytherin signet ring. We all get one in fourth year.”

Hermione picks up the ring and studies the detailed snake on the wide face. It makes the shape of an “S” with its tongue out and its tail curled. The ring is heavier than she expects it to be and feels solid in her hands. She passes it back to Nott, “We don’t have anything like that.”

Malfoy looks surprised, “Really? I can’t believe the self-important house of Gryffindor doesn’t decorate their students.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “By your own admission, Slytherin seems to be the self-important house. What with all these rings being passed around…”

Nott scoffs and slides his ring back onto his right ring finger. He gives Malfoy a look, “You do know you’re speaking to two Slytherin’s, right Granger?”

Hermione shrugs, “Your point being?”

Malfoy smirks at that and twists his ring around his finger. He glances up at her, “You’re getting into dangerous territory there, Granger.”

* * *

Hermione dreams that night not of the tent ceiling or the cold marble floor of Malfoy Manor but instead of the Gold Coast of Australia. She can see her parents off to the side and Harry and Ron enjoying the sun and ocean. She knows it’s not just a dream, but a memory from when her best friends accompanied her to Australia to find her parents. The trip was successful and the trio spent a few weeks enjoying a change of pace. 

She wakes in the morning with a smile on her face and her body more relaxed than it’s been in months. No nightmares, no tremors, just pleasant dreams and memories. It reminds her of her parents and she takes a few minutes before she gets ready to write them a letter. 

She was so sure her parents would be upset with her but instead they were so unbelievably proud of her and her friends. Her parents always had a difficult time reconciling their inability to protect her from things inside the Wizarding World. She tried her best to reassure them, and they were happy to find out that the threat was gone. She signs her letter and puts it into her bag to take to the Owlery after her classes are finished. 

Ginny almost can’t believe it when Hermione makes it to breakfast on time that morning and she scooches over on the bench to make room for her friend. She’s even more surprised when Hermione actually eats more than a slice of toast. Hermione just shrugs it off and enjoys the extra burst of energy she’s feeling that morning. It just feels like it's going to be a good day.

Her day is so good in fact that she’s completely taken aback when she feels a twinge in her spine as she’s walking back to Gryffindor Tower after she’s finished her classes and dropped her letter off at the Owlery. Her plan had been to drop off the textbooks she didn’t need, have a quick dinner and plop down at her usual study table in the library. 

But just when she can see The Fat Lady’s portrait a sudden flash interrupts her vision. She stops in her tracks as her eyes go dark as a dull pain shoots down her shoulder to her wrist, ending in the tips of her fingers. Oh no, Hermione thinks, not now, not here.

She holds her breath as the pain shoots down her other arm and lets out a shudder. Her vision is still dark, though she can no longer tell if it’s because she’s squeezing her eyes shut or if she just can’t see. Her feet start to move on their own until she feels the wall against her. She rests her head and her right shoulder against the cold wall and tries to take in a deep breath.

The pain shoots down her back this time and she crunches forward. Just breathe, Hermione thinks to herself, just breathe, it’ll be over soon. She’s not sure how long the pain lasts, or when she curls into herself on the stone floor. Her shoulders shake and her fingers tingle. It feels like hours before fingers that don’t belong to her touch her lightly on her back.

She gives a soft groan at the feeling, the touch soft but not necessarily welcome in her current state, and the fingers pull back as if they were never there. She shudders and curls tighter as another wave of pain runs down her back. She can feel her spine arch and her toes curl inside her classic Mary Jane shoes. Her entire body is heavy and tears are spilling down her cheeks.

“You need to breathe,” a baritone voice says quietly from above her. Hermione pulls in another big breath that ends in a gasp as her arm cramps. The hand is back, softly pushing against her wrist and fingers are tracing the joints in her hand. She sniffs as the pressure pushes the tremor out and she holds her breath as she waits for the next one. 

“Breathe in again,” the voice mutters after Hermione holds her breath for nearly a minute. She gulps in another breath and the fingers trace another tremor down her other arm. The pain doesn’t feel so bad anymore and her shoulders are no longer shaking. She relaxes slightly and focuses on the feel of the cold floor seeping into her robes but is not yet able to stand. The fingers disappear and she almost whimpers until they grasp her upper arms and move her into an upright position.

“In and out, Granger,” the voice says calmly. She can hear the light tapping of footsteps and something moving on the stone floor. She cracks her eyes open a millimetre and sees a large body crouched in front of her. The fingers are pressing into her shoulders again and she slowly opens her eyes more. The light is iridescent and it makes her wince. A head of white-blond hair comes into focus and a pair of grey eyes.

“Malfoy?” Hermione mumbles. She feels out of sorts, sort of confused and groggy and the fact she thinks Malfoy of all people is crouched in front of her supports that.

The figure doesn’t say anything, just presses his fingers across her shoulders and skates them across her collarbones over her shirt. She opens her eyes wider and blinks a few times as the picture comes to her. The windows are dark now and the hallway looks empty. She’s tucked into a dark and cold alcove with her legs straight out in front of her. She looks back at the figure and narrows her eyes when she sees it actually is Malfoy.

Are those his fingers? The ones that are trailing down her forearms, pushing hard into her palms?

“Do you feel it anywhere else?” Malfoy asks softly, looking up to her eyes when he sees she’s mostly come back to earth. Hermione thinks for a second before nodding.

“My legs,” she whispers, her voice rough. She clears her throat, “My calves were cramped but I think it’s okay now.”

Hermione tries to move but Malfoy keeps her down on the floor. He looks behind him, slowly sits back and crosses his legs in front of him. Hermione looks at him again and notices his robe is gone and his tie is once again undone. The top few buttons of his collar are open.

She feels his hands lift her leg to his lap, then his fingers on her knee, just barely nudging the soft edge of her thigh before they run down her calf and press on the muscle. Hermione groans as the cramp is massaged. Her calves are nearly rock hard, her legs so stiff. 

“You don’t have to do that, I can go to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione whimpers and bites her lower lip. In truth, his hands feel good on her calves, only covered by the thin material of her tights, and she’s not sure if she can make it all the way to the hospital wing.

Malfoy doesn’t respond, just pushes his fingers along her calf to her ankle, presses and massages. Hermione stays quiet and watches him. His eyes are focused on his hands and he works methodically, his fingers trail up and down her leg. After a few minutes, he pulls her other leg up to his lap and starts the ministrations over: his fingers trail from her knee to her ankle and they push and press on her calf muscle, massaging the skin. Hermione breathes softly as his fingers work. 

Malfoy moves her legs off of him and stands up, brushes his pants off and reaches over to help her stand up. Hermione accepts his help and finds that other than a little bit shaky, her arms and legs don’t hurt so much anymore.

Hermione looks around for her bookbag in the now dark hallway and reaches out to take it from Malfoy when she spies it resting over his shoulder. Malfoy shakes his head, “Come on, you should stretch your legs. We can walk.”

Hermione peeks out of the alcove to the portrait of the Fat Lady. It would be easy to just go back to her common room and climb into bed but she looks back at Malfoy who’s staring at her expectantly. Hermione nods and turns to follow him as he leads the way out. They’re quiet for a few minutes until her naturally inquisitive nature makes itself known.

“How did you find me?” Hermione asks and looks up at him out of the corner of her eye. Malfoy’s face remains passive, no emotion showing and no surprise at her question.

“I was passing by,” Malfoy responds simply as he slows his pace to walk alongside her. He keeps his eyes forward and doesn’t look at her as they slowly walk around the castle, heading down the steps and generally wandering.

Hermione accepts his answer and focuses on walking. Her muscles are sore from the tremors but Malfoy’s right, walking does help. They’re quiet for a few more minutes and Hermione notices the lack of students walking around. It must be dinner time already, Hermione thinks.

“I get them too,” Malfoy says quietly as he holds a door open and waits for her to walk through.

“Sorry?” Hermione questions, her pace slow as she stares at his face. It looks softer than it usually does.

“Tremors, I get them too. Usually at night,” he explains. His shoes tap along the stone floor and Hermione finds herself counting his steps. “They’re from the Cruciatus curse, right?”

Hermione stops. Malfoy doesn’t make it much further before he turns around to look at her, eyebrow raised. Hermione chews on her lip and her fingers make their own way to the scar on her left forearm. They are Cruciatus curse tremors, something she was told is normal but would hopefully abate as time went on. She’s just not sure if she wants Malfoy to know that.

She gives him a single nod and takes the few steps to match him until she stands directly beside him. They stare at each other. Hermione runs her eyes over his face, down to his neck and the tips of his visible collarbones. Their eyes meet and Hermione is once again struck by the stark grey colour.

A thought pops into her head, “Why were you around Gryffindor Tower?”

Gryffindor Tower is perhaps the furthest point from the dungeons. Why was Malfoy just wandering by? How did he just happen to find her?

Malfoy looks up, as though he’s questioning why on earth he stopped to help her, but looks back down into her eyes. He takes a small step forward and Hermione feels his breath moving the hairs near her forehead. 

“You weren’t at the study table,” he mutters, then turns and continues walking. Hermione frowns at that, how late was it? She couldn’t have been in that alcove for more than 20 minutes.

Hermione catches up with Malfoy, his steps quick and his gait long. “So what, you came to look for me?”

Malfoy rolls his eyes and scoffs but doesn’t answer. Hermione huffs and reaches a hand out to grasp his shoulder. Malfoy stops when she touches him and stares down at the floor. Hermione moves in front of him and raises an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“You weren’t at the study table when I got there. I waited 30 minutes before Weasley showed up looking for you, she didn’t know where you were either,” Malfoy grits out. “She left to go look for you and I agreed to help. I almost didn’t notice you in the hallway but I heard you.”

Hermione brings the fingers of her other hand up to chew lightly on her nails, a bad habit. She must’ve been in that alcove for more than an hour. 

“Is that acceptable to you?” Malfoy asks, his voice haughty. 

Hermione nods and pulls her hand off of Malfoy’s shoulder, “Yes.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes and grasps the wrist of her other hand, pulling the tip of her nail out of her mouth, "That's a filthy habit, Granger."

Malfoy continues walking with Hermione's wrist in his grasp and Hermione follows. They slowly make their way down the numerous levels in Hogwarts and it isn’t until they’re entering the stairwell next to the one that leads to the potions classroom that Hermione pipes up again, “Where are we going?”

Malfoy pulls open a door and leads her down a dead end hallway, stopping at a plain stone wall. He stares directly at the wall and for a moment Hermione thinks he’s beyond exasperated with her until he mutters a quiet word and pulls on her wrist.

“Slytherin Common Room,” Malfoy mumbles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Caprices** : It generally means a sudden change in mood or behaviour, which I thought fit this chapter. This song is considered one of the most difficult pieces ever written for a solo violin. 
> 
> Enjoy xx


	4. Schön

#  _Schön_

* * *

[An der schönen, blauen Donau, Op.314](https://open.spotify.com/track/0dzl6bBvsIAfHLlTbBObTW)   
Written by: Johann Straus II  
Performed by: Berliner Philharmoniker, Herbert von Karajan

* * *

Hermione tries to look around as Malfoy pulls her through the Slytherin Common Room but flashes of dark seemingly-velvet couches and a wall of windows are all she’s able to see before Malfoy pulls her through a door and into a room with two beds. Malfoy finally drops her wrist and walks over to a wardrobe in the far corner. He digs through it, the sound of papers and the clinking of glass reaches her ears.

Hermione chews on her lip and looks around the room. There’s two four-poster beds a decent length apart. There’s also two wardrobes on opposite ends of the room and Hermione spies another door that likely leads to a washroom. Her eyes flick back to Malfoy when he turns around.

“Can you take your robes off and sit?” Malfoy asks her and gestures to the bed further away. Hermione eyes him curiously but slips her robes off and takes a seat on the bed. It’s covered in a dark grey comforter with light grey swirls. To her surprise, there’s hardly a hint of green anywhere in the dark room.

Malfoy twists the lid off of the jar in his hand and walks towards her, his eyes looking to her face. He swipes his first two fingers through a paste of some sort and nods to her arm. Hermione pushes her sleeve up on her right arm, extends it and feels a twinge.

His fingers apply a soft pressure to her upper arm, just underneath the line of her sleeve, and the paste is cool. He rubs the non-scented balm down her arm. Hermione sinks further into the bed and lets out a sigh of relief as any remaining tension disappears from her arm.

“It’s a muscle-relaxing balm,” Malfoy tells her softly. “I find it helps.”

Hermione nods with gratefulness. Malfoy works the balm into her skin at a decent pace. She bites back a whimper when he presses his thumbs into her palm. She can’t remember her body feeling so limp and relaxed. 

He works in silence for a few minutes but Hermione’s mind floods with questions. She still can’t understand why he’s helping her, especially this much. The fact that he had rubbed her sore muscles had been more than enough, but now he was standing in front of her taking the time to pull away all the tension and soreness. 

He was a different Malfoy than the one she had met all those years ago. At first she thought he was just becoming indifferent towards her. Their intelligence was matched and his company - though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone else - was actually nice. She spent a lot of time on her own now without her two best friends and found herself looking forward to their study sessions. 

This is beyond indifference though. This is something else entirely, almost as if he’s being… nice? Kind? It was strange to see a Malfoy in that light. She glances up at his face as he works and thinks the kindness suits him. It softens his face, the annoying sneer that once seemed permanent now gone. 

“Who?” Hermione asks. She meant to ask, _who did it to you, that you know what this feels like?_ But all she could get out was _who?_ She hoped he understood what she was asking. Her lip was going to be sore in the morning if she didn’t stop biting it, but she couldn’t bring herself to release it.

Malfoy shrugs his shoulders, “It doesn’t matter,” he mutters. He holds his hand out for her other arm and Hermione slips that sleeve up. She relaxes into his touch when she feels his fingers stutter over her forearm, just below the crease in her elbow. Hermione’s eyes flick to Malfoy and there’s a look of confusion in his eyes.

She follows his sightline to her arm and raises her eyebrows. His index finger brushes over the skin but what he looks at and what he feels are different. She knows he feels her scar but can’t see it. Her glamour is still intact and she plans to keep it that way.

Malfoy’s eyes meet hers for a split second before he rubs the balm into the skin and follows the same trail down her wrist and to her fingers. Hermione lets out a shaky breath and realizes then that she had been holding it in. A few minutes later Malfoy pulls away from her, caps the small glass jar and holds it out.

“You can have this, I have more,” Malfoy says softly. “For your legs.”

Hermione accepts the small glass jar and tucks it into the pocket of her robes that are lying next to her on the bed. Malfoy then turns to the second door and within a few seconds Hermione can hear the sound of water as he washes his hands.

Hermione stands and pulls her robes back on. She’s taken up enough of his time tonight, though she’s not sure exactly what time it is. She waits patiently for Malfoy to come back out of the washroom and he wipes the excess droplets of water onto the sides of his robes.

Hermione smiles gratefully and clears her throat, “Thank you Malfoy, for all of this. It wasn’t necessary at all. You could’ve just taken me to Madam Pomfrey.”

“It’s nothing,” Malfoy replies plainly.

Hermione nods and turns to head out the door, “I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your night. I’m sorry I took up so much of your time.”

Malfoy shakes his head and walks towards the door with her, “You didn’t. I’ll walk you back to Gryffindor Tower.”

Malfoy opens the door and leads her out into the Slytherin Common Room before Hermione can say no to his offer. She has a better opportunity to look at the room this time. It’s darker than Gryffindor, but despite the widely held belief that the dungeons were a cold and uncomfortable place to be, she is pleasantly surprised by the warmth she feels and how cozy the furniture looks. 

Malfoy grasps her wrist again as they pass the couches and the lit fire and pulls her through what looks like a wall back out into the same corridor. Hermione stops him from going any further and pulls back on his grasp slightly.

“I can get back to Gryffindor, you don’t need to take me,” Hermione says, her fingers touching his fingers.

Malfoy stares for a few seconds then shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

Hermione nods and walks down the empty corridor to the staircase. Before she starts up the stairs she turns back to see Malfoy still staring after her so she gives a shy, small wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow? In the library?”

A small flash of pink pokes out from his mouth to wet his lips but he nods, “Tomorrow.”

* * *

Hermione walks to the library the next night with Ginny. All day she had insisted on accompanying her throughout the castle in case something happened again. Hermione told her not to worry, but the red-headed witch waved her off and followed her throughout the castle. Hermione was grateful to have a friend like Ginny - she really was - but even this was a little much. 

She’d had an attack like this before but it didn’t last as long. It always started with her vision going black, just how the Cruciatus curse started and it usually ended no more than ten minutes later. It wasn’t the same pain as the Cruciatus, but the tremors made it difficult to concentrate, to stand, to grasp anything. She almost always dropped her wand when it happened and collapsed. 

Ginny had been more than surprised when Hermione walked into the Gryffindor Common Room the evening before looking none the worse for wear. She’d demanded to know what happened and then demanded to know if she was sure Malfoy had helped her. 

She immediately saw the white-blond head of hair sitting at her study table, but Nott was nowhere to be seen. She took her seat across from him and placed her books down. Ginny stood at the side of the table looking between the two.

“Thanks Malfoy, for yesterday,” Ginny forces out. Her face is red and she looks as if she’d rather be anywhere but here, but she says the words anyways.

Malfoy doesn't bother looking up at Ginny but makes a small noise in acknowledgement. Ginny grits her teeth in response and with a flourish of her robes leaves Hermione and Malfoy alone. A small smile may have made its way to Hermione’s lips.

They sit comfortably in each other's presence for nearly an hour before Hermione places her quill down and lets out a big yawn. Yesterday had taken a lot out of her and while she slept through the night, without any nightmares, it didn’t feel long enough. She rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms and pulls the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows. 

The table is cool beneath her arms and seems to wake her up a bit. She looks to Malfoy and notices him staring at her left forearm again. Just ask if you really want to know, Hermione thinks to herself. She’s not a monster, she’d tell him. She just didn’t feel she needed to offer up the information.

Malfoy says nothing though, going back to his work and maintaining focus on the parchment in front of him. Hermione can’t stop yawning, the cool air of the library not doing anything to help her this time. She tests her parchment to make sure the ink is dry and rolls it up to place in her bag.

“You’re invited back to the Slytherin Common Room tonight,” Malfoy says so quietly Hermione isn’t sure he actually did say it.

Hermione crinkles her eyes in confusion and stops her movement. Who would invite her to the Slytherin Common Room? Why? She lets out a loud laugh and immediately covers her mouth with her hands. Malfoy looks up at her blankly.

“For what?” Hermione questions, sounding incredulous.

“To...chat,” Malfoy says.

Hermione can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes and continues to put away her belongings, “We can chat here if that’s what you really want.”

“Would you just come down to the common room?” Malfoy asks, frustration evident in his voice. Hermione glances at him again and sees he’s now putting his books into his bag. She doesn’t answer him.

“Granger.” 

Hermione sighs and pulls her bag up onto her shoulder. She gestures in front of her, “Lead the way.”

Their walk is quiet and they stay a good distance away from each other until Malfoy grasps her wrist once more to bring her through the invisible doorway to the Slytherin Common Room. It looks the same, a few more students sitting around with each other, but no one comments or notices her as Malfoy drags her through the room.

They end up back in Malfoy’s room and it’s empty again, Nott nowhere to be seen. Malfoy puts his bag down near the wardrobe on the far wall and gestures to the bed again. Hermione sits, lets her bag fall to the floor and stares at him expectantly. What could he possibly have to say to her?

He runs his fingers through his hair and stands in front of her, just like he had last night. His hair slowly falls into place over his eyes and he holds out his hand again. In her confusion, Hermione just sits there. He doesn’t have the balm so why does he need her arm?

She goes to raise her right arm but he shakes his head and grasps her left arm. Before she can react he raises the sleeve of her shirt and flips her arm over. The glamour is still there and she lets out a small sigh of relief. Malfoy runs his fingers over the area again and Hermione jerks her arm back when his fingertips lightly run over the jagged edges of the scar.

“Take the glamour off,” Malfoy says.

Hermione scoffs and tries to pull her arm back, “No.”

Malfoy holds her arm tighter, “Take it off.”

Hermione shakes her head again and tries to wrench it out of his grasp. His grip tightens to the point where she’s afraid he might bruise her skin, “No.”

Malfoy looks up the ceiling and drops her arm. Hermione holds it close to her and rubs her fingers over the spots his his had been only moments earlier. She’s not sure what’s going on and she’s not sure she wants to know. She rolls her eyes and regrets coming back to the Slytherin Common Room.

Hermione stands up and grabs her bag off the floor. 

“Wait,” Malfoy insists.

Hermione turns back to look at him and watches as he pulls his own sleeve up on his left arm. There on his pale, nearly translucent, skin is the dark mark. Hermione closes her eyes when she sees the black tattoo. She doesn't have any good memories of it and has no desire to see it. 

She hears his footsteps approaching her so she keeps her eyes closed. She doesn’t want to see it. She wants to forget its existence. She wants to go back to her room. She knows, deep down, that she’ll dream about it tonight.

“It’s started to scar,” she hears Malfoy say. “Just around the edges. The black is fading but instead of disappearing like I hoped, it’s starting to scar.”

Hermione opens her eyes and stares at Malfoy’s face, ignoring his outstretched arm. He looks pained. Maybe scared, actually. His eyes are pleading but she doesn’t know why.

“Can you please take off your glamour?” Malfoy asks, lowering his arm but not covering the dark mark.

Hermione visibly swallows, “Why?”

“Please,” Malfoy whispers.

Hermione closes her eyes and waves the glamour away from her left arm. She looks down and sees the familiar scar. Mudblood, as clear as the day it was carved. It hasn’t lightened or lessened, it hasn’t changed colour or faded. 

Malfoy’s fingers touch her arm and he pulls it up. He runs his fingers over the letters, one at a time. She knows he feels the raised edges, still jagged. She lets him touch it and run his fingers along it. 

“Why do you cover it?” Malfoy finally asks, the same question Ginny had asked. 

“It makes people uncomfortable,” Hermione replies, the same she said to Ginny.

Malfoy runs his thumb along the scar one more time and lets her arm go, “It doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

Hermione shrugs, “Not so much anymore. I hardly notice it now.”

“It didn’t fade?” Malfoy asks, going back to sit on his bed. Hermione follows and takes a seat next to him. 

“No,” Hermione says. “I figured out how to glamour it though so it doesn’t matter.”

Malfoy looks down to her arm and traces his own mark. He looks contemplative, as though he wants to ask her something but isn’t sure how. She peaks down to the mark and sees he’s right, the edges have started to scar. Not into a typical light scar though, the lines are red and angry against his skin.

“Can you show me?” Malfoy asks, looking up to her eyes. 

Hermione’s confused and her face must show it because Malfoy quickly clarifies, “How you glamour yours, I mean. I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

Hermione frowns. Malfoy’s smart, he must know the same glamour charms she does. She’d searched through many charms books and tried as many glamour charms as she could until one worked. She was fairly sure her scar was cursed which is why it never faded. 

“I have a list of glamour charms, I just kept trying them until one worked,” Hermione replies. “I can give you the list.”

Malfoy nods and gives her a barely-there smile, the corners of his lips turning up just so, “Thank you.”

Hermione gives him a soft look, “Is it....I mean, are you... ashamed?”

Malfoy immediately shakes his head, “No, I’m not. Not anymore. But it makes people uncomfortable.”

Hermione nods in understanding. They have some similarities, she supposes. They’re more concerned about others' reactions to their deepest, darkest secret. She’s come to view her scar as a symbol of survival, she’s not embarrassed it's there or worried what someone will think when they see it. To be honest she doesn’t care.

She does care though when people wince and look away and stop speaking to her. When they give her looks of sympathy and pity. She doesn’t want to be pitied. So it’s just easier to cover it and let others pretend it doesn’t exist.

“I’m not proud of it,” Malfoy says, as if he wants to make that clear. “But I’m no longer ashamed of it. It was against my will, even though everyone thinks otherwise.”

Hermione lightly shakes her head from side to side, “I don’t think that. I know you didn’t want it.”

Malfoy gives her that hint of a smile again and looks almost grateful for her response. She truly doesn’t think badly of him, he was put in an impossible situation just like the rest of them. He did what he had to to live and she could never look down on someone for that. They all did what they had to.

“Did the balm help?” Malfoy then asks, changing the subject.

“Oh yes, it did,” Hermione answers. “Thank you again.”

Malfoy waves her off and stands up from his seated position next to her. He opens his wardrobe again but this time comes back with two glasses and a bottle of what looks like Firewhisky. 

“Drink?” Malfoy asks, shaking the bottle slightly and showing her the two glasses.

Hermione raises her eyebrow, “What’s the occasion?”

Malfoy shrugs his shoulders and pours two glasses, both slightly less than half full, “Do we need one?”

Hermione accepts that. They don’t, not anymore. They’re alive and in their last year at school. They’re allowed to complete their N.E.W.T.s and have normal lives. There’s no evil to face, not anymore. He’s right, they don’t need an occasion.

Malfoy hands her a glass and holds his own up to her, “To becoming...friends.”

Hermione looks at him in surprise but after a moment nods, “To becoming friends.”

They clink their glasses and drink.

\---

When Theo returns that night he opens the door to his suite that he shares with his best friend and can’t believe what he sees. He expects Draco to be lying in his bed with a book or perhaps organizing his wardrobe again. But instead he sees an empty bottle of Firewhisky on the floor and two glasses.

There’s a bookbag that doesn’t belong to him or Draco in the middle of the floor and a robe is flung near it. All of these things are surprising on their own, but the most surprising is Draco and Granger passed out on his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _edited february 6_  
>  **Schön** : I am not so well-versed in German but with some help from starcrossreylo, in the song title _An der schönen, blauen Donau_ , schönen is a conjugated form of beautiful, leaving us with schön. This is one of the most famous waltzes of all time and has been used in many movies.
> 
> Enjoy xx


	5. Unfinished

#  _Unfinished._

* * *

_[ Symphony No.8 in B minor, D.759 - “Unfinished”: 1. Allegro moderato ](https://open.spotify.com/track/52GmHO5DikTIKc3yBmTTT1)  
_ _ Written by: Franz Schubert  
_ _ Performed by: Wiener Philharmoniker, Josef Kripas _

* * *

The room is pitch black when she opens her eyes. She can feel an ache near her eyes and close to her ears. She’s not sure where she is for a second. She blinks rapidly but there’s no light for her eyes to grasp onto. Movement next to her suddenly has her breath catching in her throat and she races back through her mind. 

She’s in the Slytherin Dungeons and she’s pretty sure Malfoy is on the bed next to her. The last she remembers is imbibing in far too much Firewhisky and chatting about Merlin-knows-what. She remembers flopping back on Malfoy’s bed at one point, exhaustion running through her body and telling Malfoy she was just going to close her eyes for a minute.

It’s definitely been more than a minute. She sits up as quietly as she can and tries not to disturb Malfoy. She can feel her shoes still on her feet and remembers leaving her bookbag somewhere on the floor along with her robes. She carefully crawls off the bed and tiptoes over to where she knows the door is. She’s trying to feel for her bag as she gets closer to the door and stifles a groan when she knocks right into it.

She looks back at Malfoy but he hasn’t budged. Hermione delicately picks up her bags and feels for her robes right next to it. She grasps the doorknob in her hand and just begins to turn it when she hears, “Granger?”

Hermione bites her lip, hard, and stops. She peaks around to see not Malfoy but Nott sitting up from his bed. Oh god, she forgot Nott might have come to bed and apparently saw her and Malfoy passed out in his bed.

Nott stands up from his bed and walks over to her, leads her out of the door and closes it behind him. She follows him to the Slytherin entrance in silence but just before he grasps her wrist to bring her through the brick wall he stops and smirks at her.

“You two looked comfy,” Nott grins at her.

Hermione looks down, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Nott makes an over exaggerated face of understanding, “That’s what they all say.”

Hermione gives a small sniff. Apparently she’s not the first witch to fall asleep in Malfoy’s bed. It’s not unexpected, throughout their younger years he’d always been quite popular with Witches and she can remember Pansy Parkinson hanging off his arm at every turn. But still, it bothers her. Just a tiny bit.

Hermione simply offers her wrist to Nott and he pulls her through the entrance back into the deadend hallway. Nott lets go of her wrist and offers her a stupid grin, “Any message you want me to pass along?”

Hermione scoffs, “No.”

She turns around, heads back to Gryffindor Tower and doesn’t look back at Nott. She doesn’t want to see that stupid smirk on his face. 

She quietly enters the Gryffindor Common Room and is grateful there’s no one awake. The fire has just turned to embers and she can see the moon is still out from the windows. She sinks down into her bed happy to be back in her own room. Her alarm clock tells her it’s nearly 3:30 and she only has a few more hours of sleep until she has to be up.

Hermione fitfully sleeps that night. She tosses and turns and smells the dewy forest.

Ginny won’t stop staring at her the next day. Hermione misses breakfast and heads right to Charms class. She takes her seat next to Ginny just as Professor Flitwick starts the lesson and proceeds to ignore her stare. She also avoids looking back to see Malfoy and Nott. If she had it her way, she’d be in her room all day. 

Professor Flitwick takes them through the Ascendio charm and is sure to mention Harry Potter’s use of the charm in only his fourth year, during the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione practices the wand movement for the charm and takes diligent notes. 

She tries to escape Ginny as she heads to Herbology but the sneaky Witch grabs hold of her robes and follows her. 

“So, when did you get in last night?” Ginny questions, her lips twisted into a grin.

Hermione rolls her eyes, “Not too late, I was studying.”

Ginny exaggerates a look of realization, “Oh really? Because when I went by the Library you were conveniently not there.”

Damn it Ginny, Hermione thinks to herself. She gives the Witch a look, “We’ll talk about it later, okay? I promise.”

Ginny grins triumphantly and nods, dashing off to her next class. Hermione feels like the day is non-stop until she finally takes a seat at the Gryffindor table for dinner. She’s starving at this point. She didn’t stop for lunch, instead deciding to head to the library quickly to take out a book that took her longer than she anticipated. Ginny pats the seat next to her and gives Hermione a sneaky grin.

Hermione ignores her and tunes into the conversation that Neville is having with Seamus. She helps herself to the Shepherd’s Pie and some carrots. She braves a glance back to the Slytherin table and sees Malfoy and Nott sitting together at the end of the table, where they usually are.

Dinner passes by quickly and Hermione follows Ginny back to Gryffindor Tower. She knows Ginny is going to question her on her whereabouts and Hermione doesn’t want to lie, she just doesn’t know how she’ll take it. The two witches head to Hermione’s private room and Ginny takes a seat on the end of her bed. She twirls her wand around in her fingers and waits for Hermione to start talking.

Hermione tries to start, she really does. But each time she opens her mouth nothing seems to come out. She nibbles on her lower lip as she tries to think of how to tell her friend.

“Harry wrote again last night,” Ginny starts. “He said he really misses it here with us and wonders if it would’ve been better to come back. He also mentioned that you asked about Malfoy’s wand…”

Hermione lets out a small groan, does Harry have to tell Ginny everything?

“Yes, I asked about his wand. When I saw it I was pretty sure it was his old wand, the one Harry used during the Final Battle. Harry confirmed that he’d given it back,” Hermione explains calmly.

Ginny nods and gestures for her to go on.

“Look, Malfoy just wanted to talk about something in private that I don’t feel comfortable sharing. We got to talking, he brought out some Firewhisky and I fell asleep. That’s all. When I woke up, I came right back,” Hermione explains.

She really didn’t want to tell Ginny about Malfoy’s question to her. It wasn’t her thing to tell, but it did remind her that she’d told Malfoy she’d get him the list of charms. Hermione goes over to her desk and rifles through some of the pieces of parchment she’d left out until she finds the list. She folds it into three, like you would a letter, and writes _Malfoy_ on it.

“Wait, you went to the Slytherin Common Room? Where did you fall asleep?” Ginny questions, sitting up straight.

Here goes nothing, Hermione thinks.

“Yes, he took me to the Slytherin Common Room. He and Nott share a suite like Neville and Seamus do and I...I fell asleep on his...bed,” Hermione mumbles.

Ginny gives a small shriek and puts her hands over her mouth. Hermione can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad shriek, her eyes giving nothing away.

“Do you...fancy Malfoy?!” Ginny asks

Hermione rolls her eyes, “No I don’t _fancy_ Malfoy, Ginny. I told you, he wanted to ask me about something. But I do have a favour to ask you, if you don’t mind.”

Ginny raises her eyebrow and perks up, “What kind of favour?”

Hermione hands the folded parchment to Ginny and turns around to rub her fingers over her eyebrows, pressing to relieve the tension she feels, “I don’t feel like going to the Library tonight but I told Malfoy I’d help him with something. Do you think you can give him that?”

Ginny takes the parchment from her and turns it over, “Why can’t you give it to him?”

“I told you, I don’t feel like going to the Library tonight,” Hermione reiterates. “I’m...tired.”

Ginny rolls her eyes but agrees to deliver the parchment. She’s still eyeing Hermione like she believes there’s more to the story but doesn’t seem like she’s going to ask. Ginny stands up and slips her wand and the parchment back into her robes.

“What if he asks about you?” Ginny asks, nearly to her door.

“He won’t,” Hermione replies.

* * *

Hermione spends the week studying in her room or in the Gryffindor Common Room. She visits the Library on her lunch break if she needs to take out a book or two but otherwise avoids the area entirely. She misses her usual table, but knows Malfoy will probably be there.

She’s not embarrassed, exactly. But she’s not exactly happy about what happened either. Ginny told her when she delivered the paper that Malfoy had actually asked about her, but Ginny had simply turned around and left. 

She avoided looking at the two Slytherins as much as possible, keeping her eyes forward during classes and on her food during breakfast, lunch and dinner. She made sure she left with Ginny or after Malfoy and Nott had already left.

She’s reluctant to admit it but she does sort of miss studying with Malfoy. She’s gotten used to his white-blond head and his strong hands and slim fingers working away across from her. She even remembers Malfoy toasting to their...friendship the night she fell asleep in his room. It's strange, she never thought they could be friends. But, she supposes, it hadn’t been so bad.

It’s Friday night again and she’s curled up on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room, reading up on Veritaserum which they were scheduled to start working on come Monday. She’s looking forward to brewing the truth serum. She knows it’ll be difficult and a good challenge.

She barely notices when Ginny takes a seat on the couch next to her but feels her thigh nudge her legs. She only looks up when Ginny tosses a letter onto her textbook, obscuring the sentence she’d been reading.

“What’s this?” Hermione asks, holding up the letter. She can see her name written on the front in slanted clean letters. It looks familiar.

It’s not Ron or Harry, they both have something akin to chicken-scratch. It’s also not from her parents, her mother’s tiny scrawl and her father’s all-capital-letter writing are easily recognizable. Who else would be writing to her?

“Remember Malfoy? The bloke who you don’t fancy? Well he’s been driving me absolutely batty every chance he gets to ask where you are,” Ginny says with a huff. “He asked me to give you that.”

Hermione, for once, is completely lost for words. Why would Malfoy care? And why would he send a letter? Hermione runs her thumb over her name, “What have you told him?”

“Well at first I just ignored him until one day he grabbed my robes and wouldn’t let me go until I told him you were fine,” Ginny grumbles. “I just kept telling him you weren’t feeling well. Then all of a sudden today as I was heading to the Quidditch pitch he cornered me - again - and demanded I give you this letter. I swear, if he demands anything of me again I’m going to hit him with a Bat Bogey hex…”

Hermione gives a small snort at that and starts to pack up her books, “Well thank you for braving Malfoy for me.”

Ginny waves her off, “What? You’re not going to let me read it?”

Hermione shrugs her shoulders and grabs her bookbag, “To be honest Ginny, I don’t even know if I’m going to read it. I’ll be sure to let Harry know you’re threatening use of that awful hex again though.”

Ginny snorts in laughter and looks at her over the back of the couch, “Harry’s lucky I haven’t used it on him.”

Hermione shakes her head and walks over to the stairs and into her room. She had fibbed, just a bit. Of course she’s going to read the note from Malfoy! She can’t remember a Wizard ever sending her a letter who wasn’t either of her best friends. She grasps the letter and moves to lie down on her bed. The letter is folded into three and once she opens it she can see it’s not very long.

His writing is the same though, slanted to the right, neat and clean. The perfect, proper handwriting for a Wizard of his standing. She’s sure he was forced to practice it as a child, something she wishes Harry and Ron had been forced to do. Their handwriting really is awful.

_Granger,_

_Ginny says you’re not well and I haven’t wanted to bother you after class._

_I want to apologize for the other night. It was not my intention to drink to excess and I should never have fallen asleep next to you. It was improper. I hope I haven’t scared you away, after all, we’d just toasted to becoming friends._

_I hope you’re feeling better soon. The table isn’t the same without you._

_Your friend,_

_D.M._

Hermione’s sure she’s never felt like this before. There’s butterflies in her stomach and her breath hitches in her throat. She reads the words over and over until she’s committed them to memory. She runs her thumb over the dried ink, specifically the words “ _Your friend”_ and lets out a shaky breath. 

And the last line, “ _The table isn’t the same without you._ ” Did he maybe...miss her? She isn’t sure what else it could mean. He even apologized which is so unlike the Malfoy she once thought she knew. She didn’t think he was capable of an apology or of admitting to something that could be wrong. But here it was, clear as day, on this piece of parchment. An apology. 

Hermione closes her eyes and clutches the letter to her chest. She’ll go back to the table tomorrow, after all, It isn’t the same without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Unfinished** : You probably guessed it, this symphony by Franz Schubert is unfinished. They're not sure why, he lived another six years after completing two movements. It's also considered a romantic symphony.
> 
> After a great question in the comments from WeeMarieGirl, I thought I'd let you all know that I don't have a set in stone update schedule, however I anticipate a minimum of two updates a week. As I said, I'm a writer in my day job (not an author) and so it depends on the week and how much additional writing I can do. As you can see, I'm having lots of extra time this weekend. I'm always happy to answer questions!
> 
> Enjoy xx


	6. Moonlight

#  _Moonlight._

* * *

_[ Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-Sharp Minor, Op. 27 No. 2 “Moonlight”: I. Adagio sostenuto ](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Y95aUjHiOtgL8A6t52Ynl)  
_ _ Written by: Ludwig van Beethoven  
_ _ Performed by: Louis Lortie _

* * *

Hermione is full of butterflies the next evening, she has been the whole day. The note from Malfoy just did something to her. Maybe it was just the fact that someone in the world actually missed her. She knew her friends missed her and sure, her parents missed her too. But she’d only been away from the library table for a few days and Malfoy - of all people - was writing to her and asking her to come back.

It’s a new feeling for her, but not unwelcome. Ginny could tell from the look on her face that she’d read the note and had bothered her all day to get a peek. Hermione had rolled her eyes and ignored the pushy Witch. She left the note in her desk drawer back in her room for that exact reason.

She finds she walks to the library with an extra skip in her step and holds back a grin when she sees that familiar head of blond hair. He’s bent over a piece of parchment and takes notes from his textbook without glancing up at her. Hermione feels her heart pounding every step closer to the table until she puts her bookbag down on a chair and takes her usual seat.

She isn’t sure what she’s expecting but it’s not this.

Malfoy hardly glances at her and gives her a nod and a curt, “Granger,” before going back to his work. For someone who admitted to missing her, it doesn’t seem like he had spared a second thought. Hermione gives a small sniff and takes her work out of her bag. Maybe he’s just busy and focused.

So Hermione gets to her work too and the two work quietly. No, not quietly. They work silently. In fact it’s so silent that Hermione glances up at one point and is surprised to find Malfoy still working in front of her. She chews her bottom lip in frustration. Why did he want her to come back so badly if he isn’t going to say anything to her?

She gives the tiniest huff, her bangs flying out with the force of the air, and continues her essay on the fertilization of a sopophorous plant with mooncalf dung. A fitting topic, Hermione thinks as she narrows her eyes at the Wizard sitting across from her.

How dare he get her hopes up? How dare he insinuate that he _misses her_. The table seems just fine with or without her, she thinks. She’s so deep in her own thoughts she misses when Nott approaches the table and gives Malfoy a small shoulder shove. He nods at Hermione and gives her the same curt, “Granger.”

“Nott,” Hermione replies, equally as stiff.

Nott gives her a strange look but turns his attention back to Malfoy, “Are you done yet?”

Hermione keeps her gaze on her work and tries to ignore the two Slytherin’s in front of her. If they’re going to play this game, she can too! She can ignore them just as well as they’re apparently ignoring her!

A shuffle against the table makes her look up as Malfoy puts away his books and parchment and he slides his chair in. He gives her a nod again and just...walks away. Hermione drops the quill from her hand and quickly closes her mouth, which had dropped open in complete surprise. She watches the two friends as they walk around the other tables, turn left around one of the shelves and disappear out of her sight.

Hermione is at a complete loss as she looks down at her parchment, her eyes not focused on any of the words. She just can’t understand it. Days ago Malfoy was massaging her shoulders and rubbing paste into her wrists and palms and falling asleep beside her and now he’s back to ignoring her. Typical.

Hermione takes a measured, calming breath and shakes her head. She should really get this essay finished before she heads back to her room. She takes another 25 minutes to finish the essay and do some quick revisions before she rolls up the parchment and tucks it into her bookbag. 

She carefully tucks her chair in and grasps her bookbag, slings it over her shoulder and exits out of the library with a small stomp. So much for being _friends_ , she thinks to herself. As she walks back to Gryffindor Tower the anger and annoyance aimed at Malfoy starts to fade into anger and annoyance at herself. Why would she get her hopes up about anything related to Malfoy? How could she do that to herself?

Hermione grumbles as she enters through the portrait to the common room. She sees Ginny chatting with Neville but only gives them a wave and heads directly to her room. By the time she flops down onto her bed she’s more upset with herself than she ever was with Malfoy.

What a stupid, stupid, _stupid_ thing to take seriously, she thinks to herself. She thinks of the note in her drawer and as tempting as it is to pull it out again, she stops herself. A calming shower could do her some good, Hermione thinks.

She grabs her shower stuff and a pair of clean pajamas then walks out into the hall and into the washroom. There’s no one in there, thankfully, and she chooses her favourite shower stall. She undresses quickly, avoiding the full length mirror entirely, and sighs in relief when the warm drops of water hit her back. She’s not sure how long she stands under the shower head for but her hair is soaked and her body is warm all over. She shakes her head and grabs her loofa and soap, running it down her shoulder and arms. 

Her scar is no longer glamoured and the word catches her off guard, just for a second. Sometimes when she keeps it glamoured for long periods of time she almost forgets the identifier is permanently carved into her arm. Almost.

Hermione shakes it off and continues to wash. She leans against the wall of the shower and feels how tense her shoulders are. Her back is nearly ramrod straight and her hips ache. Sometimes she feels older than she is, her muscles and bones aching and cracking with movement. She closes her eyes and tries to relax, tries to think of something else to dissipate her anger and annoyance.

She’s standing in such a way that none of the water is hitting her anymore and she’s suddenly hyperaware of the cool air against her skin. She’s looking up at the ceiling when she feels her nipples tighten almost painfully against the cool air and she squeezes her thighs at the feeling. 

She can’t remember the last time she was aware of her body like this. There was no time, or desire for that matter, during her jaunt through the forests of England with her two best friends. It was too awkward for her any time she did have the desire and most of the time she was over exhausted. 

She thinks back to the summer in Australia when Ron had snuck a hand down to her knickers and rubbed her until she’d come. They had agreed they weren’t compatible for a relationship, but that didn’t mean they weren’t able to enjoy other things. They didn’t have sex, but Ron’s fingers were quite nice and she’d lent him a hand a few times. It wasn’t mindblowing, but it was nice.

Hermione runs her hand down her neck to the centre of her chest. She can feel the skin pressed tight to the bones here before she feels the fullness of her breasts. Her wrist nudges her nipple and she whimpers. She lets her fingers move further down, brushing against the softness of her stomach, down the jut of her hip and back to her centre. She feels the roughness of the small maintained patch of hair before the tips of her fingers nudge her lips.

Hermione lets out a heated breath and swallows. She lets her other hand come up to her breasts, lightly squeezing her nipples until she can feel her wetness on the fingers between her legs. She lets her index and middle finger find her clit which she softly rubs in a circular motion. It’s been so long that just the light touch has her breath hitching in her throat and her eyes closing.

Her thighs are quivering and she rubs faster, squeezes harder until she’s just about there. Her mouth opens in a silent moan, her shoulders lean back against the wall and her back arches up and out. She’s so close, seconds away from her orgasm when she closes her eyes a little tighter and pinches her nipple a little harder. She lets out a small moan as her orgasm tumbles through her. Her fingers stop and she takes in a shaky breath and opens her eyes slowly.

She blinks a few times to clear them and rid herself of the image of a pair of grey eyes staring at her.

* * *

She can tell the temperature outside has plummeted the next evening when she takes a seat at the table to eat. She pulls her robes tighter around her and reaches over the table to ladle some beef stew into her bowl. She grabs some crusty bread to go along with the tangy stew and indulges in the warm meal. Ginny’s already switched to her warmer robe she sees and she spies Professor McGonagall encouraging the fires set at opposite ends of the Great Hall.

The stew settles in her stomach and seems to warm her entire body, toes to fingers to ears. Ginny’s still shivering beside her and Hermione nudges her towards the stew sitting on the table. Ginny smiles gratefully and ladles some into her own bowl. 

The Great Hall seems quiet that night but just as full as it usually is. A quick look shows most of the students enjoying the stew and warming up their bodies. Hermione quickly mumbles another warming charm at herself and lets out a sigh as her clothes feel as if they’ve just come out of a muggle dryer.

She finishes the last of her bread and contemplates her next move. She’s far too tempted to not go back to the library tonight - not after what happened the night before - but she’s also a Gryffindor and she’s _not_ a coward. She gives a big sigh and stands up from her seat.

“I’ll be in the library,” Hermione says softly, grasps her bookbag and waves to her friend. She glances at the Slytherin table when she leaves but doesn’t see Malfoy or Nott. He must already be in the library, she thinks to herself.

The walk is quiet and frigid, almost like she’s outside instead of in the castle. She encourages the fires set in the few fireplaces along her way, hoping they’ll warm up the hallways in time for her walk back. She enters the library and smiles when she feels the familiar warmth. Madam Pince always keeps the library nice and warm.

She stumbles slightly on her way to the table when she thinks of Malfoy’s grey eyes and a tingle runs through her belly but she steadies herself and walks confidently to the table. All for naught, she thinks, when she sees Nott’s tall body at the table but not Malfoy’s.

She drops her bag onto the chair and takes a seat, “Nott.”

Nott looks up at her from the book he was reading with a large grin, “Well hello Granger.”

Hermione tries to keep her eyes from rolling and takes out her books, parchment, quill and inkpot. She sets up her workspace and is just about to start working on the new Ancient Runes translation when Nott clears his throat.

“Draco won’t be joining us tonight,” Nott offers. “He’s...indisposed at the moment.”

Hermione gives Nott a small shrug but inside she’s seething. _Indisposed?_ As far as she’s concerned that could only be referring to one thing. Internally she gives her head a shake, why does she care? Malfoy offered to be _friends_ , nothing more. Hermione goes to her work and is surprised when Nott stays mostly quiet except for the occasional scratch of his quill.

Around an hour later, Hermione looks up from her work and leans back in her chair. She stretches her arms out in front of her, pulling on the tense muscles of her shoulders. She tilts her head from side to side, stretching her neck, too. 

Nott’s collecting his materials and packing them away in his bag and she watches him silently. He’s quite attractive too, Hermione decides. Where Malfoy is light, Nott is dark. Dark hair and dark eyes. A hint of dark stubble is filling out his chin and jaw. He’s lankier than Malfoy, not as built, but just a hint taller. 

“See you later Granger,” he says, giving her a small salute.

“Bye Nott,” Hermione says back to him.

She stays at the table for only a little while longer, just waiting for her parchment to dry. The translation was easy and she didn’t find herself grappling with multiple translations, like she had previously. She notices the library has more people in it - maybe the warmth has drawn them in - and she decides it’s time for her to go.

She’s just passing through the doorway, scooting passed a few Ravenclaws standing around when she hears someone call her name. She looks straight ahead but doesn’t see anyone she recognizes. A quick turn of her head and she sees Nott hurrying over to her from the other hallway.

His eyes are large and his face is long. He looks...scared. Hermione scrunches her eyebrows and walks towards the lanky Slytherin who’s still power walking over to her. He’s slightly out of breath when he reaches her and she nods to the bench that’s along the wall.

The two sit and Theo catches his breath before looking at her with wide eyes, “I need you to come down to the Slytherin Common Room.”

Hermione scoffs and moves to stand, “Thanks but no thanks Nott.”

“No wait- please. It’s Draco, I’ve never seen him like this before and he mentioned that, well, you kind of have the same thing,” Nott gets out quickly, his hand grasping her robes.

Hermione looks over to him and sees sincerity in his face. She still can’t help the small feeling deep down that Nott and Malfoy are doing something just to get to her, but she groans and lets Nott lead the way back to the dungeons.

This is the third time in less than a week she’s been in the Slytherin Common Room now, she thinks as Nott grasps her wrist and pulls her through the brick wall. The common room seems mostly empty except for a few students giggling in the corner and Hermione ducks her head. The war may be over but it’s still strange for a Gryffindor to be amongst so many Slytherins.

Her heart stutters in her chest as they walk towards the dorms, through patches of moonlight coming in through the windows, through the Black Lake. Nott opens the door to the suite he shares with Malfoy and tugs her in after him.

Her gasp is loud, even over Malfoy’s groans. She takes a few steps towards his bed where he’s lying over the covers, a grimace present on his face as tremors run along his body. He’s wrapped up and twisted in his pajama bottoms but his shirt has been flung to the floor and his chest is rising and falling quickly. She can hear his pants and groans. To be honest, if she didn’t know any better, she’d think someone was in the room forcing the Cruciatus Curse on him right now.

Get a grip on yourself, Hermione thinks to herself before she sits on the side of Malfoy’s bed and grabs one of his hands that’s twisted in his covers. She stretches his arm out and starts to massage the muscles just as he’d done a week prior. His arm feels cold and she suddenly realizes exactly how cold it is in the dungeons.

She pulls her wand out of her robes and wordlessly casts a warming charm on him. Malfoy lets out a brief shudder but continues trembling beneath her hands.

“Deep breaths,” she mutters to him, much like he had to her. Malfoy looks at her and gives the smallest nod of acknowledgement as tries to steady his breaths.

She moves down to his leg and runs her hands from his muscular thigh to his calves, pushing on the muscles and tendons. The tremors have lessened but he’s still trembling, almost like he’s shivering. His body feels warmer now, thanks to the warming charm, but she notices sweat dripping down from his hairline into his eyes.

“Are you too warm? Too cold?” Hermione asks, her hands moving to his other leg. She can feel Nott standing behind her, waiting in case she needs him to do something.

Malfoy shakes his head and lets out another groan as a fresh set of tremors work their way down his torso. She can see his abdominal muscles contract and his shoulders tense. His leg kicks out by itself and Hermione tries her best to hold it down.

She turns around to Nott, “He has some sort of paste or balm in his wardrobe, can you get it for me?”

Nott nods and immediately goes to the wardrobe. He comes back a few seconds later with a glass jar identical to the one he’d given her. She quickly opens it and rubs the balm into his tense shoulders. If this were any other time - particularly one where Malfoy wasn’t writhing in pain - she’d be stunned quiet by the way his torso looks. He’s much more muscular than she could ever have expected, with fine blonde hair running over his chest and down past his belly button. But he _is_ writing in pain, so she ignores it.

“The cold brings on the tremors,” Hermione explains, to both Nott and Malfoy. “I could feel it this morning when I walked down to the Great Hall. I’ve had a warming charm on all day.”

The tremors have mostly stopped now and Malfoy’s head is all the way down on his pillow. His eyes are closed and Hermione continues to rub the balm into his hands. His fingers are long and slim and she can feel the joints move when she pushes on them. She carefully pulls off his signet ring and places it on his night table.

“You scared me, mate,” Nott says to Malfoy, coming around to his other side. “I didn’t know what to do but you said Granger has tremors too…”

Nott trails off and Hermione clears her throat. She stands up once she’s massaged the balm into his shoulders, arms and hands and walks around the bed to where she knows the washroom is. She flicks the light on and takes her time as she washes her hands. She looks...disheveled. Her hair has expanded and her robes are wrinkled and messy. 

She dries her hands on the plain black towel and flicks the lights off. Nott pats Malfoy on the leg and stands up when she exits the washroom. She isn’t sure whether to stay or leave. Neither Nott or Malfoy are giving her any indication of what they want to do.

She stands next to Malfoy’s bed, “Are you alright?”

Malfoy’s grey eyes look into hers and he nods, “Thanks Granger.”

Hermione gives him a soft smile and nods. She moves to grab her bag and leave the room.

“Wait,” Malfoy says, leaning up from his position on his bed.

Hermione turns around and raises her eyebrow at him. What else could there be?

“Maybe you can just sit for a little while,” Malfoy says, a strange shy smile coming to his lips. “I missed our study time today.”

Hermione stares at him before she places her bag back onto the floor and sits on the edge of Malfoy’s bed. He’s no longer sweating but his face is tinged pink with exertion and his hair is messier than she’s ever seen it. 

Malfoy licks his lips and clears his throat, “Was Nott a good study partner?”

Hermione snorts out a laugh, covering her mouth subtly, “He was actually alright today. I think he actually did some work.”

Malfoy makes a face as if to say _that’s a first_ , and curls a little more on his side, letting out a wince as he does. He looks like a small child, exhausted but trying so hard to keep his eyes open and stay awake. Hermione nearly takes her leave then but sucks in a breath when she feels Malfoy’s fingers nudge her own from their place on the bed. 

“I didn’t know that, about the cold,” he says quietly. “I could feel it towards the end of the day but kept shrugging it off. When I came back here before dinner it started. It was worse than I remember the actual curse being.”

Hermione bites her lip and gives him a solemn nod, “It inflames your joints, just like the Cruciatus Curse. It’s like muscle memory, your joints tense and…”

Hermione trails off but Malfoy makes a noise in acknowledgement. It’s quiet for a few minutes and Hermione realizes that Nott has left the room, leaving the two of them on their own. Hermione’s not sure what to say. 

“My mother showed me how to press the tremors out. She used to do it for my father and then she did it for me. That’s her balm too, after many iterations.” Malfoy says. “She used to spend an hour rubbing my arms and my legs. She never said anything though, never made a sound. One day this summer I saw her in her sitting room cutting flower stems and she was crying but before I could go in she just...stopped. She took a tissue and wiped her eyes dry and called for her favourite elf. I called her elf later that night and asked her why mother was crying. Do you know what she told me?”

Hermione shakes her head and raises her eyebrow.

“She told me that mother always cries around 1:30, so she won’t cry in front of us,” Malfoy said softly, a sad look in his eyes.

Hermione pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and looks at the glass jar again and she’s impressed that Narcissa Malfoy created the powerfully calming balm. She thinks of Narcissa, all prim and proper, always put together. She tries to think of her showing emotion, and just can't see the Witch with tears in her eyes.

“Your mother obviously loves you very much, to hide that,” Hermione responds.

Malfoy nods in agreement and she can see his eyes starting to droop. His breathing has slowed down and is nearly steady when she lightly touches his shoulder, “You should get under the covers, so you stay warm.”

Malfoy nods and pulls the covers out from underneath him, huddling under them he lets out a sigh. His eyes are closed and his long eyelashes are pressed lightly to his skin. He looks almost innocent like this, like an angel thanks to his white-blond hair.

“Tell me something about your family,” Malfoy whispers.

Hermione scrunches her nose, her family? Why would he want to know about her family? She thinks for a few seconds and gathers up the courage. 

“When I went home the summer after fifth year when...when everything happened at the Department of Mysteries, I tried to explain to my parents the severity of the situation. It was difficult though, they just didn’t understand it. They wanted to take me out of school and hide me away. They begged me,” Hermione explains. “I refused. I knew this was where I was meant to be. If only to help Harry, I knew this was the place for me. I remembered a story my mother had read me as a child about a little girl who had nothing, not even a pair of shoes. She only had matches and she used each match one cold night to see things of beauty and to see her grandmother.”

She takes a breath and peeks at Malfoy who stares at her as she speaks, “That morning passerbys saw her small body, frozen to death but with a small smile on her face. They didn’t know that in her last moments, she had seen beauty and her family and she was happy. My mother understood then, that yes I was afraid and needed comfort but I wasn’t going to leave.”

Malfoy sniffs in the quiet and for a second she thinks maybe he's crying, but he's sleeping instead. His eyes are closed and his breaths long. She lets out a small breath and stands up off the bed. Her back cracks as she stands and rights her robes.

Hermione grabs her bag and carefully opens the door, steps out and closes it quietly behind her. Nott is waiting for her just down the hallway. He grasps her wrist and walks her to the common room entrance. Once in the dead end hall, once again, he turns to her.

“Thanks Granger, for what you did for Draco,” he expresses. 

Hermione gives him a small smile, “It’s not a problem. He’d do it for me, he did do it for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Moonlight** : Ah, a classic. The title "Moonlight" is disliked by many a critic for its romantic connotation when it's certainly not. 
> 
> **The Little Match Girl** : The story that Hermione describes is The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen. You can read it [here](https://americanliterature.com/author/hans-christian-andersen/short-story/the-little-match-girll).  
>    
> Thank you to everyone for the kind comments and questions! I also may have outed my country of origin with the use of the word "washroom." I hope you enjoy xx


	7. Souvenir

#  _Souvenir._

* * *

_[String Sextet in D Minor, Op. 70, "Souvenir de Florence": I. Allegro con spirito](https://open.spotify.com/track/72jIJDADnBLJKXV2yxv5N0?si=a3a018e2e89e4538)  
_ _ Written by: Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky  
_ _ Performed by: Jan Vogler_

* * *

Hermione finds herself pulling out her thicker, warmer robes before she knows it. The weather is more commonly overcast and cold than it is sunny and warm now and she knows it’s only a matter of time before the snow starts to fall. Somehow her last year at Hogwarts is flying by, even without trying to defeat a dark wizard. 

Life actually feels normal, like she’s just a student in a school trying to prepare as best she can for life in the real wizarding world. She’d received countless offers from the Ministry of Magic before she returned to school and had carefully considered each one. She just didn’t know what she wanted to do in her future. For so long she was convinced her future would consist of being on the run and defeating dark wizards day in and day out. 

She shared her thoughts with Ginny one evening in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room and Ginny had nodded sympathetically but Hermione knew she didn’t really get it. Ginny was back at Hogwarts for one reason and one reason only: to play quidditch and be noticed by a team. The school aspect was secondary for her. She spent most of her time outside on her broom practicing and running practices for the Gryffindor team. Ginny already knew what she wanted to do.

So before the school year started Hermione decided she wanted to keep all of her options open and petitioned the Headmistress to allow her to take seven N.E.W.T.s. Professor McGonagall had agreed at once but her full workload didn’t make her feel any better. It just reminded her that she was totally and utterly lost. She had no purpose.

The year so far had been...interesting. She surely never anticipated becoming  _ friends _ with Malfoy, or Nott for that matter. After the Malfoy episode - as she referred to it - the two had gone back to studying quietly at their table in the library, sometimes joined by Nott. They would have small conversations about silly things or discuss their homework but they never mentioned the tremors that either of them experienced quite regularly. Sometimes Hermione could see Malfoy’s wand hand shaking when he was writing and she knew the tremors had attacked him at some point. She was sure he could see the same with her.

Hermione quietly mutters a warming charm at her robes as she leaves the Gryffindor Common Room and heads to the Great Hall for breakfast. She softly smiles at her classmates as she makes her way down the stairs but doesn’t stop to talk to anyone. The Great Hall is fairly full as students prepare for the day and she takes a seat in her usual spot, near Neville who’s reading the latest Herbology periodical. 

“G’morning Hermione,” Neville offers with a smile.

Hermione gives him a small wave and helps herself to some toast and sausage. She’s just finished buttering her toast when someone - Ginny, she thinks, arrives at the table in front of her but doesn’t sit. Instead they stands as if waiting for something. Hermione looks up and sees that it’s not Ginny but...Malfoy. She raises her eyebrow in question at his presence at the Gryffindor table.

“Uh...hello?” Hermione questions, her toast still in her hand.

Malfoy gives her a small nod and a brief smile then gestures to the table like he wants to sit. Hermione gives him a small shrug as if to say, why not, and Malfoy takes a seat. It’s perfectly normal to take a seat, except nearly everyone in the Great Hall is watching. Neville looks as if he’s just seen Professor Snape rise from the dead and a quick peek behind her shows the same of the Hufflepuffs.

Malfoy settles in, ignoring the stares, and spoons a bit of eggs and a few strips of bacon onto his plate. Hermione finds herself still staring at him but quickly goes back to her toast. She can still feel all of the eyes on her but ignores them the best she can.

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asks, acting nonchalant.

Malfoy gives her a strange look and continues eating, “Yes. Theo didn’t feel like coming to breakfast this morning.”

Hermione scrunches her eyebrows but gives him a smile. So Nott didn’t come to breakfast. And he decided to sit with her?

“Is this alright?” Malfoy asks and puts his fork down next to his plate. His eyebrows are high and disappear beneath his soft fringe.

“Oh yes, of course,” Hermione responds, an earnest look on her face. “It’s most definitely alright. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Malfoy shrugs his shoulders and resumes eating his breakfast. Hermione goes back to her toast and finds the silence comfortable once everyone goes back to their own breakfast. Even Neville goes back to reading his Herbology periodical. It’s comfortable until Ginny stomps her way over to the table.

“Uh...Malfoy? Did you knock your pretty head into a wall this morning?” Ginny questions and slides into her spot next to Hermione.

Hermione gives her a quick glare, her eyes begging her to just leave it alone. Ginny ignores Hermione’s look and waits for Malfoy to answer. Malfoy does his best to ignore the red-headed Witch.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” Ginny questions and waves her hand in front of him.

Hermione grabs the Witch’s hand and pulls it down to the table, “He can sit here if he wants.”

Ginny scoffs but keeps her hand down on the table, “What’s wrong with his own table?”

“Ginny, stop,” Hermione hisses at her friend. “We’re friends. He can come and sit here anytime he wants.”

Ginny gapes at that, her eyes wide in surprise and high in question. She goes to respond but Hermione narrows her eyes again and the Witch quiets and piles food on her plate. Hermione glances at Malfoy who’s still eating but now has a small grin on his lips. He looks up at Hermione and gives her a grateful smile. Hermione gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile in return.

The House tables aren’t mandatory seating assignments by any means. Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors sit at each other's tables quite often during the school year. It’s true, the Slytherins generally keep to themselves and don’t mix with the other Houses, but there’s no rule against it.

Hermione is just about finished with her breakfast when Malfoy brings his napkin up to wipe his mouth and then clean his hands. He swings his bag around to his shoulder and looks at Hermione expectantly, “Ready?”

Hermione pauses for a split second before doing the same with her own napkin. She stands up from the table and picks up her bookbag. Ginny looks at her with confusion but Hermione ignores her, “Ready.”

Hermione falls into step with Malfoy as they head to their shared first class, Charms. She can see other students staring but keeps her eyes on the stone floor in front of her. She’s not sure what to say, or if she’s even supposed to say anything. 

“Thanks for...back there,” Malfoy says sheepishly, using his thumb to point over his shoulder, back at the Great Hall. 

Hermione shrugs, “Well we’re friends, right?”

Malfoy looks at her with a smile and nods, “Right.”

“Just out of curiosity, do you see yourself eating many of your meals at the Gryffindor table?” Hermione asks with a wink.

Malfoy gives her a small laugh and Hermione smiles internally at the sound, “Dunno yet. That remains to be seen.”

They continue their brief conversation all the way to Charms class where Hermione takes her usual seat and Malfoy sets his bag down next to Nott. Nott gives Hermione a small wave, which Hermione returns, and the two Slytherins settle into conversation.

When Ginny joins her at the table they still have a few minutes before Professor Flitwick starts and she knows what’s coming before Ginny even opens her mouth. Her only female friend in the castle gives her a look worthy of Voldemort himself and opens and closes her mouth a few times as she thinks about what she wants to say.

“What in Merlin’s name was that back there? You’re  _ friends _ with Malfoy now? First you fall asleep in his room -  _ in his bed!  _ \- and insist there’s nothing untoward, but now he’s sitting with you at breakfast and walking you to classes? What aren’t you telling me?” Ginny hisses, keeping her voice quiet but intention clear.

Hermione lets out a deep sigh and flicks her eyes over to Malfoy who’s watching her with a lifted eyebrow, “I’ve told you everything, there’s nothing going on. I didn’t know he was going to eat at the Gryffindor table today until he’d already sat down.”

Ginny scoffs, rather loudly, and Hermione hushes her as a few head turn to look at them, “Don’t lie, Hermione. It’s obvious!”

“I’m not lying, Ginny. I’ve told you the truth the whole time. We agreed to be friends, we study together, that’s it. Nott didn’t make it to breakfast this morning and he didn’t want to sit alone, that’s all,” Hermione looks at Ginny with imploring eyes to just accept her explanation and stop pushing it.

Ginny looks as though she’s going to continue but Professor Flitwick enters the classroom and steps up to his podium to start the lesson. 

* * *

Hermione spends the rest of the week with Ginny hanging off her wrist, walking her to her classes - even the ones Ginny doesn’t have - and glaring at Malfoy and Nott every chance she has. Hermione tries to flash them apologetic looks throughout the day. She still sees them to study in the Library, she told Ginny under no uncertain terms was she going to stop studying in the library, but Malfoy hasn’t made another attempt to sit at the Gryffindor table.

That weekend Hermione and Ginny decide to head to Hogsmeade for a little shopping and free time outside of the castle. The walk to the small Wizarding village is frigid but Hermione keeps her wand grasped in her hand and whispers warming charms as they trudge their way in the wind. Hermione buys herself a new pair of boots as hers are on their last legs and Ginny picks up a new blouse. 

They’re heading to the Three Broomsticks for a pint of Butterbeer and a snack when she sees Malfoy and Nott approaching from the opposite direction. She gives the two Slytherins a shy smile and a wave as they get closer and elbows Ginny at the small groan she emits. She shivers as a wave of cold goes through her cloak but before she can whisper the charm, she feels her cloak warm.

Malfoy gives her a small smile and shows her his own wand before he points it to himself and mutters the same charm. Nott makes a pathetic noise in his throat and looks towards his best friend.

“You could warm me too, y’know?” Nott grumbles, pulling his own wand out of his clock.

Malfoy shrugs and gives Hermione a small wink, “It’s probably best you learn some charms for yourself.”

Nott scoffs and gives Malfoy a barely-there glare then turns his attention on the two Witches they’ve come to a stop in front of, “Going in?”

Hermione nods her head and pinches Ginny’s wrist when the Witch opens her mouth, “Yes just for a quick snack and maybe a pint.”

“Us too,” Malfoy grins. “Care to join us?”

Before Hermione can give her friend another pinch Ginny lets out a groan, “Must we, Hermione?”

Hermione ignores her friend and gives Malfoy a nod, “We’d love to.”

Hermione feels like she’s dragging a captive when they enter the warm pub and turns to whisper in her friend’s ear, “Be nice, Ginny.”

Ginny shoots her a glare but gives her a curt nod as they had towards a free table in the back. Hermione pulls her cloak off and hangs it on the hook next to the table, putting Ginny’s right next to hers. Malfoy takes his own cloak off and pulls the sleeve of his grey sweater down lower over his left arm. She’d made sure he had her list of glamorous, but perhaps they didn’t work for him?

She takes a seat across from Malfoy and next to Ginny, Nott diagonal from her. 

The silence is slightly uncomfortable but Hermione clears her throat and goes to stand, “Shall I get us some drinks?”

“I’ll help,” Malfoy says and also stands. She glances to Ginny but the Witch glowers at the table. 

Hermione moves to the bar with Malfoy just behind her and chances a glance back at their two friends. Ginny’s still glaring down at the table and Nott looks like he’s trying to start some type of conversation. 

“She’ll be okay,” Malfoy says to her when they reach the bar. He places his hands down on the bar top and Hermione is drawn to his signet ring again. 

“It’s not her I’m worried about,” Hermione gives Malfoy a sly smile. 

Malfoy laughs, that unexpected sound again and nods to the Barman who comes to serve them, “Four Butterbeers please.”

Hermione smiles at him and self-consciously pulls down her sweater which has risen above the line of her jeans. She pulls the corner of her lip into her mouth and looks down at the chipped bar top as they wait for the drinks. 

“Did you do any shopping today?” Hermione asks Malfoy, trying to make small talk. She can feel his arm brush her own with how close they stand next to each other and she hides a smile.

Malfoy shakes his head, “No, just wanted to get out of the castle. I don’t do too well being cooped up too long.”

Hermione can understand that, after all, he'd practically been a prisoner in his own home with his parents just as she’d been a prisoner in that tent. She gives the Barman a smile and reaches into her pocket to pull out a few galleons but Malfoy’s already placed some on the bar top.

Hermione goes to protest but Malfoy waves her off, “Not necessary, Granger. I invited you.”

Hermione narrows her eyes and shakes her head, “But we were going to come here anyways.”

Malfoy shrugs his shoulders and grabs two of the Butterbeers and heads back to the table. Hermione grabs the other two and makes her way over. Ginny looks even more angry, if possible, and Nott just looks uncomfortable.

“Thank Merlin,” Nott mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face when Malfoy puts down his glass. Hermione shoots a look at Ginny as if to question her.

Ginny rolls her eyes and moves to stand, “Thanks for the Butterbeer but I’m not staying Hermione.”

Ginny pulls her cloak back on and reaches into her pocket for a few coins to give Hermione but Hermione shakes it off, “Malfoy picked it up.”

Ginny snorts and puts the coins back in her pocket, “In that case…I’ll see you back at the castle, Hermione.”

Hermione twists around as Ginny stomps out of the pub and looks back at the two Slytherin’s with her mouth slightly open in surprise. What could’ve happened? She and Malfoy had been gone for less than two minutes. 

Nott doesn’t say anything, just grasps the handle on the pint of Butterbeer and downs nearly the entire glass in one go. He sets the glass back onto the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his arm, getting rid of the foam.

“That was great Draco, Granger,” Nott says and stands from his seat. “Let’s do it again some time.”

With that, Nott grabs his cloak off the hook and leaves the pub, just as Ginny had done second before. Hermione looks down at Malfoy who’s looking at her with the same confusion in his eyes. He shrugs his shoulder as if to convey he has absolutely no idea what just happened and gestures to the seat across from him. Hermione sits and takes a brief sip of her Butterbeer as she contemplates what could’ve happened.

“Well that was…” Malfoy starts but can’t seem to finish.

“Unexpected?” Hermione asks, her eyebrows rising high. Malfoy gives her a grin and nods, taking his first sip of the Butterbeer.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into Ginny,” Hermione mumbles into her mug. “She’s not usually so harsh.”

Malfoy raises one shoulder, “I seem to bring out the worst in most people.”

“That’s not true Malfoy she just...doesn’t know you properly,” Hermione explains.

Malfoy gives her a small nod and soft smile and Hermione finds herself staring at his grey eyes again. They’re so unusual and she’s never seen anyone else with the same eyes. She briefly wonders if his father has the same eyes? Or perhaps his mother? She blushes a little, her cheeks flushing pink, when she realizes she’s staring and Malfoy is giving her a tiny smirk.

“Sorry, I just...your eyes are so different,” Hermione mumbles. 

“Thanks Granger,” Malfoy says, as though she’s just edited his homework for him.

“Do they run in your family?” Hermione asks, running her fingers down the condensation of her glass.

Malfoy takes a large swig of the sweet liquid and nods, “Yes, my father’s family. Grey eyes all the way down the line.”

“How interesting,” Hermione says. 

“I mean I suppose, if you’re interested in eye colour.”

“I should say, it’s more interesting than mine. I guess you could say brown runs in my family,” Hermione jokes, slightly self-deprecating.

Malfoy sniggers but shakes his head, “Not just brown though. There’s little bits of gold and flakes of green. I’d say yours are pretty interesting too. As interesting as eye colour can be.”

Hermione feels her heart stutter in her chest as Malfoy describes her eye colour. No one had ever described them as anything but brown before, but she’d always thought there were flakes of gold in the right light. The green she wasn’t sure about, but it wasn’t like Malfoy to lie. 

The silence between them moved to comfortable, and they both sip at their Butterbeer. Hermione glances at him from underneath her eyelashes, appreciating the way his sweater clings to his build. She has a flash of his naked torso in her mind and shakes the thought free. He’d been incapacitated, it wasn’t right to think of him like that. 

His fingers are dancing around the rim of his mug, lithe and long. His nails are short and clean. Her eyes land on his signet ring again, the snake twirled in a S shape. The silver jewelry stands out on his pale skin.

“The ring again?” Malfoy asks, twisting the piece of jewelry around.

Hermione’s eyes fly up to Malfoy, once again embarrassed he’d noticed her staring. She shakes her head, “No, I just…”

“Yes?” Malfoy asks and pulls the ring off his finger and places it on the table.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admits, running her fingers over the face of it. Something about the ring just draws her in. Or maybe it’s just it’s home on his finger. She’s not sure.

Malfoy clears his throat and puts the ring back on. Hermione glances down at the table and her nearly empty mug of Butterbeer. She drinks the rest, careful to avoid the foam from sticking her lips. 

“Another?” Malfoy questions, holding the now empty glasses.

“Oh no, that’s alright,” Hermione says.

“Nonsense,” Malfoy smiles and stands up, “I’ll get us each another. A snack too.”

Hermione hesitates for a second but eventually smiles and nods, “Alright, Malfoy.”

Malfoy rolls her eyes at the use of his surname, “You should probably call me Draco. After all, we are friends now.”

Hermione takes in a deep breath and calms her heart, “Alright...Draco. You should probably call me Hermione then.”

“Alright Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Souvenir** : Not too much to say about this one. Just one of my favourite pieces by my favourite composer. 
> 
> Enjoy xx


	8. Rêverie

#  _Rêverie._

* * *

[ Rêverie, L. 68: Rêverie  ](https://open.spotify.com/track/43bSKCMWHIuBsUVmQcDX1J?si=55927d0d3c0f4a88)  
Written by: Claude Debussy  
Performed by: Jean-Yves Thibaudet

* * *

_Hermione,_

_How are you? How are your classes? I miss being at Hogwarts with you and Ron. It feels like a different lifetime right now. I’m so tired and can’t remember the last time I was at my flat for more than a few hours to shower and grab a change of clothes. In some ways it feels like I’m on the run again._

_Listen, is everything alright between you and Gin? She’s sounded kind of put out in her last few letters and doesn’t really mention you anymore. Let me know if there’s something I can help with - you know how she can get. I just like knowing that at least you have Ginny there, if Ron and I aren’t._

_What else has been going on? I’m dying to learn something that doesn’t have to do with a runaway Death Eater! Write soon, ‘Mione._

_Love,_

_Harry_

Hermione runs her fingers over the ink on the parchment and smiles at the good intentions of her best friend. She misses him so much; she misses their friendship and having him at the castle. Ginny has been less than thrilled with her lately and has kept her distance as much as possible. The two Witches still sit next to each other in their classes and at meals but haven’t talked about the giant snake in the room - Draco. It’s probably for the best, Hermione thinks.

She lets out of a happy sigh and looks up with a grin on her lips when Malfoy - no, Draco - sits down at their table. He looks at her with a questioning look and his eyes flit to the parchment in front of her.

“It’s just a letter from Harry, I haven’t heard from him in a while,” Hermione explains. “He’s always so busy now, running all over the place.”

Draco nods his head but doesn’t reply. He pulls out a textbook she doesn’t recognize and his quill and inkpot. He looks...ill, Hermione thinks. His skin is sallow with purple rings around his eyes, as if he’s been awake for days. His light brows are scrunched in, like the candlelight in the library is bothering his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asks, folding the letter from Harry and putting it back into her bag, promising to write him back later tonight.

Draco looks up at her surprised but nods and gives her a smile, “I’m fine, a little tired.”

Hermione nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t totally believe him. She looks down to his textbook again, trying to read the title upside down. She finally makes out the letters and her eyes widen a touch.

“Oh,” she breathes. “You’re taking Alchemy? I find it quite fascinating but it just doesn’t come naturally to me.”

Draco lets out a soft laugh, a small puff of air coming out from between his lips and moving his fringe out of his eyes. He never slicks it back anymore or really styles it. It always looks soft and his fringe hands into his eyes.

“Wow, something that doesn’t come naturally…” Draco teases. “It isn’t the most obvious subject, but I do enjoy it.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “There are things I’m no good at it. Take Divination for example - a complete farce of a subject as far as I’m concerned - but nonetheless definitely did not come naturally.”

“Ah, but for Divination you need to be in the beyond, dear,” Draco jokes, referring to Professor Trelawney. “It just takes a bit more feeling than smarts and Alchemy is similar in some ways. There’s the academic side and philosophical side.”

Hermione’s eyes are glued to Draco as he speaks, genuinely interested in the subject. She’d read up on Alchemy of course, but couldn’t get beyond the journey from ignorant to enlightened when it came to the transmutation of metals. What did one have to do with the other?

“It’s the philosophical side for me that I just can’t seem to grasp. I just don’t see what it has to do with the science of it,” Hermione admits, chewing lightly on the end of her quill.

Draco makes a face but places his quill down and carefully considers his words, “It’s more symbolic than anything. There’s no actual journey that takes place, other than learning. Once you know, you’re enlightened. You’re combining aspects of magic - potions and transfiguration mainly - and once you do, you can’t unsee it. You think of things differently.”

“So then what draws you to it?” Hermione asks, her chin resting in her palm. 

“Panacea,” Draco answers simply.

“But didn’t Nicolas Flamel create the Elixir of Life? Hasn’t it already been accomplished?” 

Draco shakes his head, “Not exactly. Flamel created what Alchemists consider the closest thing to Panacea. But it’s one of those things that can always be improved upon. You have to drink the Elixir of Life every day for its effects to work. Not to mention, the Philosopher's Stone was destroyed.”

Hermione hums into her palm and thinks about Draco’s words, “You want to create Panacea.”

Draco shrugs his shoulders, “I’m not sure. I just find the study interesting, for now.”

Hermione acknowledges him, quiets and lets him get back to his textbook. In her opinion, eternal life sounds quite...boring. But a cure for all disease was something she could support. It’s like muggle science, she thinks. The muggle world was quite adept at dealing with illness and disease, but just because something works doesn’t mean they stop trying to make it better. Why not work towards a 100% success and survival rate?

Hermione pulls out her Herbology textbook and goes to work on her essay on how to care for a Whomping Willow. Well that’s easy, Hermione thinks, and reminisces about her interaction with the violent tree. You only need to ensure your two best friends accompany you as you’re swung about by the branches. She lets out a small snort of laughter at the thought.

“Something funny?” Draco asks, peering at her from beneath his fringe.

Hermione shakes her head, “No, nothing. Just remembering something.”

Draco quips a smile and goes back to his work. She takes note of the sickly tone to his skin again and that’s when she notices his wand hand shaking. His fingers are clenched so tightly on his quill, as if he’s trying to quell the tremors. His fingers are white and as he puts the quill down to the parchment, the ink zips in quick procession. Hermione frowns and without a thought reaches out to put her hand over his.

Draco looks up at her, surprise clear on his face. Hermione pulls the quill from his grip and encloses her hand over his. Draco lets her and makes no move to pull away. She feels his hand shaking beneath her own and lets out a sigh.

“Are you...are you having trouble sleeping?” Hermione asks and glances at the purple bruise-like rings around his eyes.

Draco looks indignant, but only for a few seconds, before he gives her a terse nod. Hermione stays quiet and hopes he’ll open up to her, or at least explain why he’s not able to sleep. But he stays quiet and Hermione licks her lips before she starts.

“I have trouble sleeping too, I get nightmares that feel so real,” Hermione explains, hand still clasped over his. “The worst part is I feel stuck in the nightmare, like I can’t wake up no matter how hard I try. I feel frozen and after a while am almost convinced that I’m not dreaming after all, and I’m still there.”

Draco looks down at her words, a pained look coming across his face. His brows are still furrowed but his nose is scrunched now too. He huffs out a breath and slowly shakes his head.

“Sometimes I scream myself awake. Sometimes I wake everyone else too. Once I’m awake the last thing I want to do is go back to sleep, back to that...place,” Hermione continues. “The less sleep I get, the more prevalent the tremors are. It’s funny, the Healer I saw at St. Mungo’s said the tremors would stop but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

She doesn’t expect Draco to reply, she just wants him to know that he’s not alone in whatever nightmares are plaguing his dreams and his thoughts. She feels it too, and while they may be based on different things, the result is the same. 

“People who have experienced multiple rounds of _that curse_ can deal with tremors for years,” Draco nearly whispers. He moves his hand to grasp hers, sliding their fingers together. 

Hermione nods in agreement, the Healer had said that to her too but there was a part of her that hoped she was wrong, that one day she’d experience her last tremors and be none the wiser. So far, that day had yet to come. 

It’s quiet again and Hermione feels like she has to fill the air again, “I’m not sure about you but my nightmares hardly make any sense. It’s not even as if we were there for that long, but my dreams always go back to that point in time. I don’t understand why. Part of me thinks that my mind is trying to tell me something by bringing me back to that moment, but I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

Draco removes his hand from hers then; actually, he wrenches it from her grip and holds it close to him as if she’s burned him somehow. Hermione looks down at her own hand in surprise but doesn’t see anything. Draco looks…devastated. He looks like he did during the Final Battle, with no hope and no interest in continuing on.

“Draco…” Hermione trails off quietly, looking at him with concern.

“It’s obvious isn't it? Your mind is trying to tell you to stay away from me,” Draco says harshly. He rolls up his parchment and closes his inkpot and throws everything into his bag. Just before he stands up, once Hermione has grasped what he said, she reaches out to touch his arm again. Draco pulls it back to his body.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione looks around their area of the Library and turns back to him when she sees no one else is near them. “Why would you say that?”

Draco scoffs and steps back from the table, running his fingers through his hair. His eyes are wide and the whites are ringed red, “Your mind takes you back to that moment to warn you away from me.”

Hermione shakes her head in confusion. What does the Forest of Dean have to do with Draco? He’d never been there with them. She doesn’t think he even knows the Forest, why would he? It’s not as if the Malfoy’s went camping or hiking. She raises her hand to run it through her own curls when she sees her sleeve fall and the “ _blood_ ” of her scar. _Oh._

“Draco,” Hermione says, going around the table to stop the Slytherin from running off. “My nightmares do not take place in...they’re not about…”

Draco rolls his eyes and tries to go around her but Hermione reaches out to grasp his shoulders. He’s only in his white oxford and she can feel the warmth of his skin. He feels solid beneath her hands.

“My nightmares do not take me back to your home,” Hermione says plainly. 

“Well that’s where mine take me and I have no interest in hearing about it from your point of view,” Draco says roughly, wrenching his shoulder back from her grip. Hermione grasps his wrist and refuses to move out of his way. 

“Draco!” Hermione says sternly, moving her head until she’s looking into his grey eyes. “I do not dream about being in your home. I dream about being in a tent. I dream about the uncomfortable cot beneath my back and the smell of dew and forest.”

Draco falters slightly under words. 

“I dream of a time when I thought the rest of my life would be spent on the run, in that bloody forest, with no end in sight,” Hermione’s breath has quickened with her explanation and her grip on Draco in front of her, one hand still on his shoulder and the other on his wrist.

His back is against the bookshelf behind him and Hermione realizes how close they are. She can feel the soft puffs of his breath against her face and she takes a small step back, releasing her hold on his shoulder. His wrist feels limp in her grip.

It’s quiet around them now, except for their breaths. Draco’s looking at her as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe her. She looks at him imploringly, urging him to understand and believe what she’s saying. In all honesty, she has dreamed of being back in Malfoy Manor. But she can count the number of times on one hand. No, her nightmares are filled with dew and rain and the top of the tent.

Draco clears his throat and stands up straight. Hermione lets go of his wrist and moves back around to the other side of the table where she’d pushed her chair out. She runs her fingers down her skirt in an effort to calm herself and sits back down in her chair. 

Draco runs a hand over his hair - a comfort thing, she thinks - and slowly walks back to the table where he sits again in his seat. He looks contemplative and plays with his fingers like he’s trying to figure out the right thing to say.

“I just assumed…” Draco trails off without looking at her. 

Hermione chews on her bottom lip, “I understand why but...it’s not the case. Not for me.”

Draco nods and clasps his hands in front of him, resting on the desk, “I dream about my home, but it’s not the home I grew up in it. Instead it houses the darkest Wizard known to this world.”

Hermione stays quiet, not wanting to interrupt him.

“I dream about my parents, looking so…” Draco trails off. Hermione knows what he means. Her brief look at the Malfoy’s during her...visit....left her surprised at the state of the Sacred family. Draco’s father looked so unkempt, his hair disheveled and discoloured, the markings of a beard on his face. His skin looked grey. Draco’s mother had fared better, but she was a far cry from the prim and proper Witch she’d seen.

“It doesn’t matter what part of the house I dream about, it always ends the same,” Draco continues. “I could be anywhere but then it starts, this sound ringing through my ears. I always look around, trying to find the source. I run through the house sometimes but all I really need to do is look down.”

Draco looks at her then and his eyes are haunted. He looks terrified and she notices his hand shaking again. She doesn’t reach out to grasp it this time.

“When I look down the sound stops and I think in the dream I know that,” Draco explains. “But I also know that when I look down I’ll have to see you: crying, shaking and bleeding.”

Hermione’s heart drops. She’s never considered that Draco’s nightmares would be of her, why would they? She was sure he’d seen worse atrocities committed in his home. She’d heard whispers of Professor Burbage being killed there and the family had held other prisoners in their dungeons. But her...she didn’t want him to suffer because of her.

Hermione finally reaches out and grasps his hands with hers. She slides their fingers together slowly and gives him the chance to pull away if that’s what he wants. He lets her. She sniffs and takes in a breath.

“I’m alright Draco,” she whispers to him, their eyes locked on each other.

Draco gives a small shake of his head and then he pushes her sleeve back on her left arm. Her glamour has disappeared and her _mudblood_ scar is there, clear as day. The colouring has been fascinating to her; instead of fading like a normal scar, turning into a silver-pink line, it remains raised and dark like a scab. 

“ _T_ _hat_ is not alright, Hermione,” Draco says in a shaky voice. “ _Nothing about this is alright!”_

Hermione’s breath hitches at the hiss from his voice and how his hands tighten around hers. She’s not afraid of him, not scared by the show of emotion. She shimmies her arm so her sleeve falls back down to her wrist and they don’t have to look at it any longer.

“No, you’re right. It’s not alright,” Hermione concedes, her voice soft and her thumb running lightly over his knuckles. “But _I’m_ alright. _I’m_ okay Draco. And the nightmare is just that, it’s a nightmare. It’s horrible and I’m so sorry you have to see me like that all the time.”

Draco lets out a small laugh at her words and Hermione raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re apologizing to me?” Draco questions. Hermione shrugs.

“Please don’t ever apologize to me for that, ever again,” Draco says in a stern tone. He looks so serious, and his grip on her hands loosens. He looks her dead in the eye.

Hermione agrees, “Alright, I won’t.”

Draco accepts her acknowledgement and Hermione goes to open her hands and let go of his. Draco holds on though, his hands flexing their grip but not releasing her. Hermione looks back at him.

“Your hands are soft,” Draco says by way of explanation.

Hermione can feel a flush burning into her cheeks and she sucks in a breath at his words. His hands are soft too, not built up with callouses like Ron and Harry. She can feel his ring pressing against one of her own fingers.

They don’t end up getting any work done that night. They can’t really, not when they don't have use of their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Rêverie** : A rêverie is a dream-like state, which I thought was the perfect juxtaposition for this chapter. Other than that, it's a peaceful piece that was disliked by the composer and referred to as a "work of no consequence."
> 
>  **Panacea** : Panacea was the Goddess of Universal Remedy, curing the sick. In Alchemy, it refers to a cure-all medicine or remedy to indefinitely prolong life. Indeed, the Philosopher's Stone was considered Panacea. 
> 
> I want to wish everyone a Happy Valentine's Day and hope you are all able to celebrate with your loved ones. I'm away from my beau this year due to pandemic circumstances, but still celebrating with those I love. 
> 
> We're getting there. I hope you're all enjoying xx


	9. Impromptu

#  _Impromptu._

* * *

[ 4 Impromptus, Op. 90, D.899: No.3 in G Flat Major: Andante ](https://open.spotify.com/track/6tp0X9kioYeGaRYBJKpCTM?si=4af88cd9416b4477)   
Written by: Franz Schubert   
Performed by: Radu Lupu

* * *

The Christmas hols are nearly upon them. Snow covers the outside of the castle and Hermione can hear the winds whipping as she walks through corridors near windows. She’s excited to get a small break and see her best friends and her parents but she’s also hit with a strange nostalgic feeling. This will be her last Christmas holidays at Hogwarts. 

Lately everything seems like “the last.” Her last first day of school, her last year at Hogwarts, her last Christmas holidays, her last exams. She knows it’s a good thing that she even got to experience a last year at Hogwarts. It really did break her heart to think she’d never go back after Sixth Year, but she wasn’t about to let Ron and Harry run off on their own. 

The year so far had been…different, but not bad. She certainly never expected to make friends with Draco or Nott - or was it Theo now? She assumed they’d go on quietly disliking each other even as adults. Draco seems remorseful though, seems like he wants to be a better person. They were all pushed into impossible situations, both dark and light, and she’s just glad they’re all still around.

Her relationship with Ginny has soured a tad. She’d written back to Harry explaining the situation as best she could and let him know the truth: Draco had expressed that he wanted to be friends and Hermione had accepted. Ginny just hasn’t been able to accept it herself.

Harry’s letter hadn’t exactly been what she was expecting.

_ As for Malfoy, I can’t say I’m surprised. He did seem remorseful during the interviews. As I understand it he’s been quite upset with his father. Can’t blame him though. He probably needs a friend now that he’s not lost in the War. Let me see if I can talk to Ginny about it, I’m sure she’s just being protective of you. You know Ron would do that same. _

Hermione agreed with Harry, Ron would do the same. Maybe Ginny feels like she has to step into Ron’s shoes? Or maybe she just really does hate Draco. Either way, Hermione wants to fix it before she takes off to the Burrow for a week before visiting her parents. The last thing she needs is for it to be awkward over Christmas, not when it’s their first Christmas without a care in the world.

So she’d thought and thought and thought some more. And then she’d planned and planned and planned some more. How could she make it up to the red-headed Witch but at the same time explain she wasn’t going to stop being Draco’s friend? Her solution is maybe a little bit dramatic, and to be honest she wasn’t even sure it would be possible in the castle. But she took a little visit over to the Room of Requirement and was pleasantly surprised when the room turned into exactly what she imagined. 

She usually spent Friday evenings in the library with Draco but she’d told him the evening before that she and Ginny had plans and maybe she’d see him on the weekend. Draco had given her a soft smile, a nod of his head and told her to have a nice time.

After dinner, Hermione surprises Ginny and grasps the Witch’s wrist and takes her up the seven flights of stairs to where the Room of Requirement is safely hidden. Ginny questions her incessantly. 

“Where are you taking me?” She asks once they pass the Library.

“Why are you in a hurry to get to the Common Room?” She asks when they reach the seventh floor.

Hermione keeps quiet and drags her friend past the Common Room entrance and only when Ginny spots the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry does she give Hermione a strange look and stop the Witch from moving forward, “Why are we going to the Room of Requirement?”

Hermione rolls her eyes and pulls Ginny along, “Just come on Ginny.”

Hermione paces in front of the empty wall with her thoughts loud and clear until the door appears. She grasps Ginny’s wrist again with a toothy smile and pulls her into the room. Once again, it’s just as she pictured in her head.

There’s rows of seats and a large screen on one wall, a popcorn and drink machine off to the side and two soft blankets waiting for them. Hermione grabs them both a popcorn and a drink and walks a few rows up, nearly to the top, before she takes a seat right in the centre.

“It’s a cinema, Gin,” Hermione says. “It’s a place where they play muggle movies. Remember I told you about those?”

Ginny looks both interested and confused and accepts the food and drink once she sits down. Hermione spreads a blanket over Ginny’s legs and another over herself. She pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth and grins at the buttery and salty taste. She’s not sure how much time there is until the movie starts, but she turns to Ginny anyways.

“I just want to explain myself and everything that’s been going on the last little while with Malfoy,” Hermione calls him by his last name, there’s no telling Ginny’s reaction if she calls him Draco. “I’m being completely honest with you Ginny when I say that we’re just friends. He seems...lonely and like he needs a friend and I can’t say no to that, not to someone who has shown remorse and tried to make a difference.”

“We actually have quite a bit in common,” Hermione explains. “Interests, school work, nightmares, scars…”

Hermione bites her bottom lip and watches carefully for Ginny’s reaction, “He’s trying Ginny, he really is. I’m not asking you to be friends with him or Nott, just give them a chance and be cordial. Please.”

Ginny lets out a deep sigh and looks contemplative before she turns to Hermione and says, “Alright.”

“Alright?” Hermione asks, incredulously. 

Ginny shrugs her shoulders, “Alright.”

“That was...easier than I expected,” Hermione mumbles, leaning back in her chair.

Ginny shrugs her shoulders, “I mean, he is kind of pathetic. The least I can do is be cordial.”

Hermione rolls her eyes but smiles at her friend. Ginny smiles back and pats her hand that’s on the arm rest, “Harry told me I was being a bitch, which I guess I was. But I was only trying to protect you. I mean, it’s still Malfoy.”

Hermione shakes her head, “No Ginny, honestly. I should have explained better.”

Ginny waves her off, “No matter. Now, what movie are we watching?”

Hermione grins again and turns to face Ginny, “Well, it’s my favourite Christmas movie. It’s called It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s about...well, you’ll see, I won’t spoil it.”

The two Witches watch the movie, Ginny nearly with bated breath. She munches away at her popcorn and is pleasantly surprised by the sweet fizzy drink Hermione gave her. Hermione’s seen the film dozens of times over her life and being able to share it with one of her friends is incredible. She watches Ginny out of the corner of her eye, excited to see her reaction to her favourite movie.

“Are all movies in black and white?” Ginny half-whispers, shovelling the buttery popcorn into her mouth.

Hermione shakes her head, “No, but many older films are.”

Hermione’s blotting tears by the end of the movie and she hears Ginny sniff when George begs for his life to go back to normal. She knows it hits somewhere personal for her friend, just as it does for her. There were too many times during the War where she had silently done the same thing. 

Sometimes at night when she was keeping guard outside the tent, she’d tilt her head up to the heavens and repeat the prayers her Grandmother had taught her as a child. She’d beg God to help her find a way to survive and fix things. 

The Wizarding world has no time or place for Muggle Gods or religions but Harry would sometimes join her in her small prayers. In a way, it was just meditative. Regardless, she understood George’s plight.

As George holds his daughter and Clarence gets his wings, Hermione feels Ginny grasp her hand and hold it tightly. Hermione looks at her red-headed friend with a watery smile and squeezes her hand back.

“We’re so lucky, Hermione,” Ginny gasps, a hiccup interrupting her breath as a few tears run down her blotchy cheeks. “ _ I’m so lucky _ to have you in my life. I’m sorry I was being such a terrible friend, I only wanted to protect you. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

“We’re both lucky Ginny,” Hermione tells her friend. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ginny sniffles and sips the rest of her drink. The two Gryffindors spend the rest of the evening in the cinema, spending time together.

* * *

“Hey you,” Draco murmurs and swings an arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

Hermione turns her head slightly and smiles at the Slytherin, “Hi Draco.”

Hermione feels herself ever-so-slightly lean into the side of Draco’s body - just chasing the heat, she tells herself - and flushes at the feeling of his fingers rubbing her upper arm. His arm isn’t heavy on her shoulders, but a comforting weight. 

“How was your evening with Ginny?” Draco asks as they walk together to the Great Hall. It’s later on Saturday morning; Hermione and Ginny didn’t return to the Gryffindor Common Room until late the night before and she’d had a terribly difficult time forcing herself up from her bed. Luckily on the weekend breakfast was served a little bit later than during the week.

“It was nice, we needed to spend some time together and talk about a few things,” Hermione says. “I don’t want it to be awkward at The Burrow over Christmas.”

Draco acknowledges her and follows her through the doorway to the Gryffindor table. Hermione bites her lip when Ginny sees the two walking to the table. The stares and quiet whispers have slowly stopped as the weeks have gone by. It’s no longer an odd or strange thing to see Draco and Hermione studying together, eating together or walking through the hallway. People mostly ignore the pair now.

Ginny stays quiet and even keeps her features neutral as Hermione sits next to her friend and Draco takes a seat across from her. Ginny spoons some yoghurt into her mouth and watches Draco.

“Malfoy,” Ginny nods cordially.

Draco looks at Hermione with a raised eyebrow and then to Ginny, “Ginny.”

Hermione bumps Ginny’s thigh with her knee and offers her a grateful smile. The Witch had been telling the truth last night when she said she'd be nicer to the Slytherin.

“What did you ladies get up to last night?” Draco asks conversationally, a few pieces of bacon on his plate - a favourite of his, Hermione has realized. 

Ginny grins around her cup, “Hermione let me experience a muggle cinema actually.”

Draco looks confused, “A cinema?”

He pronounces the word as one would a foreign language. There’s nothing familiar about the word, Hermione can see that. Ginny had never been to a cinema before, but she was still aware of the word and the concept. 

“It’s a place where muggles go to watch movies,” Hermione explains, watching his face for any recognition of the words.

“And eat popcorn and have this sweet and fizzy drink!” Ginny adds on to Hermione’s explanation.

Draco still looks confused and mouths the word “movies” as if trying to decipher its meaning.

“Movies?”

Hermione smiles, “They’re like Wizard portraits except longer, more than an hour. Muggles film them with a camera that captures movement and sound and it makes a story.”

Draco hums in response, “That actually sounds...interesting.”

Hermione smiles at him and pops a piece of sausage into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. She never thought Draco would be interested in anything muggle, let alone watching a movie with her, but maybe he was after all. 

“Good morning Witches,” Theo announces as he slides onto the bench next to Draco. “And Wizard.”

Draco rolls his eyes at his friend but acknowledges him. Ginny looks...pleasantly neutral.

“What’s this I hear about movies?” Theo asks and tucks into some eggs and toast.

“Hermione showed me a movie last night. It was in black and white and we had this sweet fizzy drink, what did you say it was called?,” Ginny turns to look at Hermione and away from watching Theo as he shovels food into his mouth. He’s almost like a replacement Ron in some ways.

“It’s called pop Ginny,” Hermione tells her, a small grin on her lips. She hadn’t anticipated Ginny enjoying the Coke so much.

“They don’t have colour?” Draco asks, his brows furrowed in confusion as he nibbles on a piece of bacon.

“They do, it’s just an older movie and it was filmed before they could capture colour,” Hermione says. “How many pieces of bacon have you had?”

“Why?” Draco asks defensively and pulls another piece off his plate. Theo snickers from beside him, going as far as to nudge Neville who’s paying attention to their conversation but not adding anything. 

Hermione rolls her eyes, “I’m just asking. It’s full of salt and cholesterol and you eat a lot of it.”

“Is that bad?” Draco asks. “Mother’s never said anything about bacon before.”

Before Hermione can answer, a large eagle owl swoops down over their table, carefully landing next to Draco with a letter and a small package. Draco feeds the bird a small piece of his bacon and the bird flits away as quickly as it landed. Any hint of a smile Draco previously had on his face is now gone as he reads the letter. Must be from home, Hermione thinks. He passes the small package off to Theo and lets him dig into the sweets. 

“The Malfoy’s have the best treacle fudge,” Theo mutters, taking a piece for himself.

Hermione keeps her eyes on Draco as a frown settles onto his face. He pushes his plate away and swings his legs over the bench seat, “I’ll see you all later.”

Draco’s up and over the bench before Hermione can protest and he’s almost moved too far away before her words come back to her, “Are we still going to study this evening?”

Draco stops and turns around with a small smile, “Of course. I’ll meet you in the Library.”

* * *

The Library is busy that night with students getting in some last minute studying before most students head home for the holidays. Hermione is bent over her Ancient Runes textbook, reading ahead in their lessons. She’s already finished her homework and essays due in the next week.

Draco is strangely late. He’s never been late before and to be honest, she’s worried about him. His attitude changed so quickly at breakfast that day and she was sure it was because of the letter. Did he get bad news?

Hermione taps her quill against her chin and looks towards the entrance of the library. Without even realizing it, she finds herself smiling softly when she sees Draco heading towards her. He doesn’t look upset but he’s not really happy either. He’s staring down at his shoes as he walks.

Hermione admires him as he walks towards her: his pants are tight against his thighs and the top two buttons of his white Oxford are undone, his tie nowhere to be found. His hair is slightly disheveled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s not carrying his book bag, she notices, but instead has what looks like his thick winter robes over his arm.

The edges of his face seem tense until he looks up and locks eyes with her. The tension melts away into a smile reaching all the way to his eyes. Hermione’s heart jumps into her throat at the look on his face, a look that she caused. Or at least a look that he only gave once he’d seen her.

She tries to keep her feelings in check, has been trying to for the last few weeks. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up but the way Draco looks at her sometimes makes her feel like he wants to be more than friends. She’s never seen him act this way with another girl before.

“Up for a little change of scenery?” Draco asks her once he reaches their table.

“You don’t want to study?” Hermione asks and puts her quill down next to her textbook. 

Draco shakes his head and with a wave of his hand has her textbook and quill packed in her bag and her bag over his shoulder, “Do you have your robes?”

This time Hermione shakes her head and Draco holds out his arm, “Good thing I brought two. Here, put these on.”

“Oh, Draco I can just go get mine,” Hermione puts her hand on Draco’s robes, lightly pushing them away but Draco insists. 

“Just put them on Hermione,” he holds the robes out and helps her slip them on. 

Hermione closes the top button and takes in a deep breath. She can smell...wood smoke, musky vetiver and a hint of something floral. Peony, maybe. The scent is pleasing and masculine. His robes are warm and far too big for her; they hang down past her ankles, nearly dragging down to the floor, and the sleeves hide her hands. Draco gives her a smirk and uses his wand to fit the robes more to her size.

“Are you a giant or something?” Hermione asks slyly.

Draco gives her a shrug and leads her out of the Library, “It’s not hard to be taller than you.”

“So,” Hermione starts, following the Slytherin. “Where are we going?”

“Outside,” Draco says simply. He tugs on his own thick robes and they make their way down the stairs to the main doors.

The two friends head outside and Draco leads them on the path that eventually goes into Hogsmeade. It’s cold outside but thankfully there’s no snow on the grass. Hermione sees her breath rise in the air and before she can pull her wand out to cast a warming charm, Draco’s already done it. She huddles more into the robes and breathes in Draco’s scent again. 

It’s dark and the skies are clear. Hermione looks up at the stars as they walk when she feels Draco grasp her hand in his and tug her over to a tree. She double checks to make sure it’s not the Whomping Willow and follows Draco to the base. Draco tugs her down and she sits with her back against the bark and her legs pulled into her chest. 

Draco’s quiet and just stares up at the sky. The tree has lost all of its leaves letting them see the dark sky clearly. Hermione can see the stars but doesn’t know which constellations they belong to. She took the required Astronomy classes but never anything else.

“So…” Hermione trails off after the quiet feels suffocating. She’s still not sure why Draco dragged her out here.

Draco sighs and takes her hand in his again. He folds his hand over hers so it’s pointing with her index finger and brings it up to point at a cluster of stars, “Do you see those three stars on the left, they make a triangle?”

Hermione peers up at the sky and eventually nods, she can just make out a triangle shape, “Yes I see it.”

Draco uses their clasped hands to trace a shape in the sky and Hermione tries to follow it the best she can. He zigs their hands up and to the right, then down and around, “That’s the Draco constellation.”

Hermione’s jaw drops in surprise. She looks at the constellation again and sees the vague shape representing the dragon of the skies. She’s never been able to pick out a constellation before. She could draw them well enough and find them based on maps, but Draco seemed to know exactly where the dragon constellation was.

“When I was little my mother would take me out to the gardens and trace the Draco constellation with my hand, just like this,” Draco explains and squeezes her hand tight. “We’d trace it for hours, I could never get enough of seeing the dragon in the sky.”

“You know she’s not named after a constellation?” Draco asks, looking over to her.

Hermione furrows her brows and nods, she’s not. But why? She thought it was tradition in the Black family to name their children after constellations. 

“She told me she was always jealous of her sisters for carrying on the tradition. She asked her father once and he just patted her head and told her that she’d always be his flower,” Draco explains. 

“She’s always been different,” Hermione elaborates, squeezing Draco’s hand in hers. She gives him a small smile when he looks at her again.

“She has,” Draco agrees. “Anyways, I thought you might like to see the constellations. It’s an unusually clear night and when I saw the stars I thought it might be good to get out of the library.”

“I do like it,” Hermione says quietly. “Thank you, Draco.”

Draco smiles and nods at her and goes back to staring up at the sky. Hermione can still see the constellation, as if Draco traced lines onto the sky. The dragon is clear as day, taking up a major portion of the sky. They’d learned in Astronomy class that it was one of the largest constellations and only visible from the Northern Hemisphere. 

Hermione glances at Draco again and sees some of the tension has returned to his face. His light brows are furrowed and his mouth is tight, closed in a thin line. She rubs her thumb over his hand and considers her words carefully. 

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asks him. “I noticed at breakfast you got a letter and you didn’t seem to be happy afterwards.”

Draco glances at her and chews on his bottom lip. He pulls his hand out of Hermione’s grip and runs it through his white-blond hair. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I just wanted to make sure that you’re alright,” Hermione says and pulls her hand to rest on her lap.

Draco shakes his head, “Honestly? No, I’m not alright. But it’s to be expected.”

“To be expected? What do you mean?” Hermione questions just as a chilly breeze flows over them. Draco casts a warming charm over the two of them again.

“My mother wants me to stay at the Manor for the full two weeks,” Draco starts, blowing out a puff of air. “I was only going to stay for a week and then come back to school. Theo agreed to head back early too.”

“Well, it’s not surprising that your mother wants to spend more time with you,” Hermione points out. She moves closer to Draco until her knee rests on his thigh. His thigh is hard underneath her.

“The nightmares seem worse when I’m there. They happen every night and in the morning I wake up shaking,” Draco admits. “I don’t know if I can spend two weeks like that.”

Hermione puts her hand over his, “Oh, Draco...I’m sorry. I can understand your hesitation.”

Draco nods and wipes his other hand over his face, “She says my father has found something that works for him, that’s stopped the nightmares. I don’t know how much I want him to help me though.”

Hermione can understand that. From what Harry told her, Draco holds quite a bit of resentment towards his father and who could blame him? The elder Malfoy had involved his son in a War that he certainly hadn’t asked for. Well, none of them had asked for it, but at least they’d been on the right side. 

“I’m sure it won't be as bad as you anticipate, Draco,” Hermione says softly.

Draco looks over to her and shrugs his shoulders, “We’ll see.”

The silence is thick between them and Hermione can feel Draco’s tension again, “Do you know any of the other constellations?”

Draco looks back to her and nods. He wraps his hand around hers again, points out her index finger and traces another constellation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Impromptu** : No.3 was used in the film Gattaca, albeit a different variation for "12 fingers". I chose No.3 for it's connection to space, but No.4 of Op. 90 is my personal favourite.
> 
> **Draco Constellation** : You can see photos of the constellation [here](https://www.constellation-guide.com/constellation-list/draco-constellation/).
> 
> Well, it's been a very busy week. Luckily, I enjoy writing this story. Enjoy xx 


	10. Awakening

#  _Awakening_

* * *

[ Symphony No. 6 in F Major, Op. 68 "Pastoral": I. Awakening of Cheerful Feelings Upon Arrival in the Country: Allegro ma non troppo ](https://open.spotify.com/track/408VC5UfnAh3Uhl0RQpbkA?si=6a106c80863f4d07)   
Written by: Ludwig van Beethoven   
Performed by: Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, Mariss Jansons

* * *

Hermione grins around her apple cider at the antics of George and Ron. They’ve brought home some of their new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products and are testing them on family and friends. She takes a sip of the warm, sweet, spiked liquid and giggles when Harry’s hair turns a violent shade of purple and his fingers expand to the size of cocktail weenies. 

“What could possibly be a reason for this?” Harry groans, looking down at his fingers with eyes wide. 

George shrugs his shoulders, “We thought it might bring back some...memories for you.”

George winks at Hermione as Hermione bites her tongue in laughter. Ron is laughing loudly and withholding the cure portion of the sweet as Harry stares at his fingers in wonder.

“What? What memories?” Harry questions, trying and failing to grab the sweet from Ron. He looks like a blueberry and Hermione’s _fairly sure_ Ron and George are referring to Harry’s accident regarding his Uncle’s sister.

Ron finally tosses the sweet to his best friend and Harry throws it into his mouth, “We just thought you might like to be reminded of your Uncle’s sister again. What was her name…?”

Harry groans and wipes his hands down his face, “Marge and it was an accident!”

Ginny giggles and presses a sweet kiss to Harry’s lips once his colouring has gone back to normal, “They’re just teasing.”

Harry grumbles but flops down next to Hermione and gives her a small swat when she can’t hold in a laugh, “It was an accident.”

Ginny tumbles down into his lap and runs her fingers through his shaggy dark hair. Hermione sips her spiked cider and grins at the affection between her two friends. Her time at The Burrow has been fun, more fun than she can remember ever having. The Weasley’s had long since accepted Hermione as a surrogate daughter, even though her relationship with their youngest son hadn’t worked out.

There were no hurt feelings, just a sense of gratitude that the failed relationship hadn’t soured her feelings towards the rest of the Weasleys. Hermione loved being with the big family. She was an only child and had three cousins split between her mother and father’s sides of the families. The feeling of being surrounded by people who love you - and who you love - is something she will never take for granted.

“...it’s nice, isn’t it Hermione?” Ginny asks and breaks her out of her own thoughts.

“Hm? What’s nice?” Hermione questions, turning to face her red-headed friend in her best friend’s lap. 

“To be in a house of Gryffindors with no Slytherins in sight,” Ginny mutters, fingers curling around the back of Harry's head and twirling the hairs. 

Hermione bites her lip when the room goes quiet until Ron pipes up, “Slytherins? Are they bothering you at school?”

Hermione shoots Ginny a glare at the mention of the one subject they’d so far avoided. In just another day she’ll head off to Australia to spend some time with her parents and she’d been thrilled that Ginny hadn’t broached the subject of the Slytherin she'd become friends with.

“No, Ron. No one’s bothering us,” Hermione says quietly, hoping they’ll just drop the subject.

Of course, it could never be that easy and Ginny can’t help but chime in, “Speak for yourself…”

“Well who is it?” Ron asks, chest puffing in indignation. Ron’s urge to protect the people he loves is strong, too strong, and often ends in disaster. His anger frequently gets the best of him and Hermione’s glad he decided not to become an Auror with Harry.

Hermione takes another long sip of her spiked cider and savours the alcohol on her tongue. She takes a deep breath and decides it’s probably just best to explain it all now, “It’s been...different this year. There aren’t many from our year who decided to come back and people have...changed, Ron.”

Ron looks confused but doesn’t interrupt when Hermione explains, “I’ve become fairly good friends with Draco Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?” Ron asks, dumbfounded. His eyes are wide and his hand clutches his glass so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

“Yes, Malfoy. He’s different, Ron. He’s changed, like we all have. He’s smart and intelligent and he’s a nice person. We get along quite well,” Hermione elaborates.

Hermione looks around the room and spins her fingers around the rim of her glass. Everyone is quiet, even Harry, and Ginny looks surprisingly neutral. Ron is still sitting with his mouth wide, completely unprepared for what Hermione told him.

“You’re...Malfoy? Really?” Ron asks again.

Hermione nods. She turns slightly when she feels Harry lightly rub her shoulder supportively, “He has changed, Ron. I don’t think he’s used to having too many friends.”

Ron rubs his hand over his face like he’s trying to wake up from a dream. He blinks over and over at her before he slowly nods, “So you’re friends with Malfoy.”

“Yes,” Hermione agrees. “I’m friends with Malfoy.”

Before the silence stretches on further, George claps his hand against Bill’s back and pulls out a new box of mystery sweets, “Anyone want to try another sweet?”

Harry groans in the negative, “No chance.”

Hermione peeks down at her nearly empty glass as the room lightens up again. She glances over at Ginny and sees her focused on Harry. Their eyes are glued to each other and she spies Harry’s fingers rubbing lightly over the exposed area of skin on her back, above her lounge pants. 

Hermione pours back the rest of the cider and gingerly stands up from the couch. She picks up a few other empty glasses from the table and makes her way into the kitchen to clean them up before she heads to bed. She bites her lip as she contemplates where to sleep tonight. She knows Harry and Ginny want their space, it’s obvious to everyone.

She waves her wand over the glasses being washed in the sink until they slot onto the drying rack. She lets her hands rest on the countertop and her mind wanders to Draco, just for a moment. Here she is, surrounded by people she loves while Draco is in a big house with only his parents and his nightmares to keep him company.

“I’ll stay in George’s room tonight,” a soft voice comes from behind her.

Hermione whips around, startled. Ron is standing a few feet away from her, hands deep in his denim pockets. He’s looking at her with a soft, almost sad smile.

“Harry and Ginny can take my room and that way you don’t have to move,” Ron continues, stepping forward. 

Hermione nods from her place against the sink and holds her breath as Ron walks closer. He looks the same, she thinks. The same light blue eyes, red hair, pale skin. The same large, rough hands that wrap around her wrists, the same soft pink lips that press against her forehead. The scruffy ginger stubble is new, brushing against the side of her face. But everything else is the same, everything else is comforting as he pulls her into his body.

Hermione sighs and presses the side of her face to his chest, fingers curling in his sweater. She feels his breath against her hair and hands wind around her back. She feels safe and comfortable wrapped in his arms. It’s a familiar place.

“Do you like him?” Ron mumbles into her hair, one hand coming up to cradle her head against his chest.

Hermione’s breath stutters in her throat at the question. _Does she like him?_ Draco, she assumes he means. _Does she like him?_ It’s a question she’s asked herself the last few weeks.

_Does she like him?_

Hermione slowly pulls away from his chest and looks up to his eyes and shrugs, “I don’t know Ron. But I do know I like being his friend.”

Ron nods in acceptance and brings his hand up to rest on the side of her face. His thumb runs over her cheek and across her jaw, brushes her bottom lip. Hermione lets out a small sigh at his touch. So familiar, not unwanted, but not... _right_. 

Ron presses one last soft kiss to her forehead and steps back from her. He puts his hands back into his pockets and Hermione sees the red flush trailing up from his neck to his cheeks. He doesn’t look angry, or sad really.

“I’ll see you in the morning ‘Mione,” Ron says quietly and moves out of the kitchen. 

Hermione stays put in the kitchen for a few more minutes, leaning her lower back against the counter and letting out a shaky breath. She had definitely not expected that. Ron was a hothead, always flying off the handle at the first sign of trouble. 

She runs a hand through her curly hair and makes her way over to the stairs. When she lays her head on her pillow that night, she dreams of strong pale hands running down her cheek, over her jaw, slowly over her throat. She shudders as she feels the cold silver of a ring, resting lightly against her windpipe.

* * *

Hermione sighs in pure pleasure. Her back arches and her arms splay above her head. Her body is warm and relaxed and she squints at the body next to her.

“I needed this,” Hermione sighs, bringing her hand to her forehead to create a visor against the sun.

“You’ve gotten so pale over there,” Hermione’s mother mentions, tapping her daughter’s arm. Hermione shrugs.

“Not much sun in Scotland, Mummy,” Hermione mumbles, adjusting the top of her bikini. She sighs happily and relishes in the feel of the sun’s rays blanketing her body. 

She sits up slightly and leans back on her elbows. Her hair is up in a high bun but loose tendrils are stuck to the sides of her face in sweat. She moves her right foot off of the towel and into the sand, squeezing the grains between her toes. There’s a light sheen of sweat down the middle of her chest that’s glistening in the sun and she waves away her mother when she tries to wipe it.

“I’m not ready for you to go back, darling,” her mom says plainly, sitting up beside her with her knees pulled in close to her chest. 

Hermione gives her mother a sad smile, “I know Mummy, but I have to go back. I’m almost finished school.”

Her mother nods with a sigh and reaches into the cooler between them to grab a bottle of water. Hermione stares off down the beach, looking to the ocean. It’s a beautiful sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. It’s her first Christmas holiday in Australia and she can’t imagine why they’d never come to Australia before.

Instead of wet, cold and snowy England, Australia’s Gold Coast is bathed in sunlight and heat. For the last six days she’s laid out in the sun, basking in the rays and adding a healthy glow to her skin. Her mother reaches over and pinches the skin over her hip.

“At least you’ve put some weight on,” her mother says with a small frown. “You looked positively ghastly when I saw you last.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and reaches for the suntan lotion, applying some more to her freckled shoulders, “I told you, Mummy, I wasn’t exactly having regular meals.”

“I know, I know, darling,” her mother waves her off. “I’m just saying, you look so much better. And a tan suits you so.”

“She’s not moving here, Dear.” 

Hermione looks up towards the sky and sees her father standing above the two most important women in his life, “Hi Daddy.”

Her father gives her a grin and takes a seat in the low chair they’d placed near them. He looks back at her mother and mutters, “And if you keep bothering her about it, she’s not going to visit.”

“Oh hush,” Hermione’s mother admonishes. “I’m just saying...Australia suits you, Hermione.”

Hermione gives a sigh and turns over. She pulls her thin dress over to her and uses it as a pillow to rest her face on. At least her mother had waited for a few days before bothering her incessantly about moving to Australia to be closer to her parents.

“Like I said, all of my friends are back in England. I will always come and visit but I just can’t move,” Hermione explains again. 

Her mother groans and lightly pats her thigh, “Alright fine. As long as you promise to visit us.”

“I will, whenever I have a chance,” Hermione assures both her parents. She closes her eyes and listens to her parents converse above her. Australia is nice, but it’s not home. She’d be away from all of her friends and acquaintances and while she’s sure there’s a magical community out here, she’s not interested in starting anew. 

“Oh sweetie, what’s this?” Her mother asks before running a finger down her left shoulder and onto her back. Hermione knows she’s touching the silvery-pink scar she’d gotten during the Final Battle. She’d turned her back for one moment and been hit with a slicing hex that would have torn up her back if Ron hadn’t partially shielded her.

“It’s just a scar, Mum,” Hermione mutters softly, biting her lip. 

“From the...the War?” Her mother asks softly. Hermione looks over and gives her mother a smile.

“Yes, Mum. From the War. But it’s not so bad, Ron was able to help,” Hermione explains and hopes her mother will drop it.

“How is Ron?” Her father asks from her other side. 

Hermione sighs and turns to face him, “Ron is doing well. He’s running the joke shop with his brother George and from what he said it’s doing quite well.”

Hermione’s mother hums and she closes her eyes, hoping to drown out the questions she knows are coming. Her parents are aware that she’d broken up with Ron, but her mother had caught them asleep in her bed during the summer when they'd come to Australia to find her parents. Hermione had explained to her mom that it wasn’t anything serious and they weren’t dating, not anymore.

“You’re not still seeing Ron, are you?” Her mother asked, a judgemental tone to her voice.

Hermione sighs and pushes up off the towel, settling on her knees. She grabs her sunglasses from on top of the cooler and slips them over her eyes, “No Mum, I’m not seeing Ron.”

She carefully pushes herself into a standing position and fixes her bikini bottoms so they actually cover her bottom, “I’m just going to walk down the beach one last time before I head home.”

Her parents nod and wave her off. Hermione heads down to the ocean and walks just where the water meets the beach. She enjoys the feeling of her feet sinking into the wet sand, the warm sun shining over her and the salty smell of the ocean. She smiles as she passes other people on the beach and is pleasantly surprised by how much she enjoys being here. 

She’d grown up in rainy London and lived for the days where the sun would shine through the clouds. Of course, at a certain point in the summer it would always grow too hot in her house. Her mother would open all the windows and run every fan even though all it did was blow hot air at them. Her parents had purchased a house on the Gold Coast with air conditioning and Hermione was grateful for small blessings. 

She finally stopped and turned to look out at the ocean. The wind blew the tendrils around her face and she closed her eyes, breathing it all in. Her thoughts immediately turned to Draco and how much she’d like to bring him here to the sun and warmth, away from the cold. Away from his home. She toyed with the idea of sending him a note before she left The Burrow but decided against it. What if his parents saw who the letter was from? She was sure they wouldn’t approve.

She’s also had time to think more about Ron’s question. _Does she like him?_ She likes parts of him: his shiny grey eyes, his soft white-blond hair. She likes his long, lithe fingers and strong shoulders. His rippled abdomen and strong thighs. His breathy laugh and soft smile. Yes, she likes him. But, does she _like_ him?

Hermione sighs and sits. She knows she’ll regret it and be washing sand out from her bottoms but she enjoys the feeling of the water rushing up onto her legs. She leans back on her hands and stares out into the neverending blue.

It’s perfect, except for the minute tremors in her wand hand.

* * *

Theo snickers at the look on his best friend’s face: annoyance, exasperation and a hint of anger. He can tell Draco has had it with being home. His jaw is tense and his brows are pulled tight into a permanent scowl and it’s been that way since Theo had first come to visit more than a week ago. 

“Are you excited to head back to school, Theo?” Draco’s mum asks him politely as she daintily stirs her tea once, then twice around. She lightly taps her spoon against the rim of the cup once and places it on the edge of the saucer.

“Oh yes, Mrs. Malfoy. I’m happy to be finishing school soon,” Theo replies. He hasn’t touched his tea, but then again he’s never been one for the usually bitter drink. 

“Oh yes, so soon for you boys. Well, _clearly_ Draco can’t wait to be back,” Narcissa says with a hint of fake sweetness on her tongue. She narrows her eyes slightly at her insolent son sitting across from her.

Theo turns back to Draco and sees his fingers clawed into his pants covering his legs. He lets out a strong puff of air and his hair flutters in front of his eyes. He whispers out a strangled, “Mother.”

Narcissa scoffs at his behaviour, “Oh come now Draco. Clearly you have no interest being here, _with your family_ , any longer.”

Draco groans and leans forward, resting his hand in his hands. Theo can see his fingers shaking lightly against his face and he takes in the thin rings of purple around his eyes. 

“I think he’s just looking forward to returning to his study partner,” Theo mentions, biting the end of his tongue to keep in a grin. Draco looks up at him sharply and if looks could kill, Theo would be dead 10 times over.

Narcissa raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow in Theo’s direction and looks towards her son again, “Oh really?”

Draco shakes his head and mutters something unintelligible into his hands, but Theo’s pretty sure he makes out the words _going to fucking kill you_. He’s sure it’s aimed at him and not his mother. Theo can’t help the sly grin that takes over his lips.

“Yes, they’ve grown quite...close. Haven’t you Draco?” Theo asks his blond-haired friend. Draco sits back up and glares openly at Theo, but Theo doesn’t care.

“Well, who is it?” Narcissa asks, prodding. Draco stays silent and brings his fingers up to chew on his nails. 

“Oh Draco, stop that,” Narcissa says, sending a light stinging hex at his hand. “That’s a filthy habit.”

Draco shakes off his hand and nods at his mother, “She’s no one, Mother. Just someone to study with.”

Narcissa’s eyebrow raises even higher into her hairline, Theo notices. Draco had slipped. “She?”

Draco closes his eyes in resignation at his slip up. Theo crinkles his eyes and holds in a laugh at how uncomfortable his friend looks. He knows his friend has feelings beyond friendship for the know-it-all swot, but Merlin help them if they have to wait for him to say something about it.

“Yes, Mother. A girl,” Draco hardly elaborates.

“Well? Who’s the lovely girl that clearly has your attention?” Narcissa asks and places her tea back onto the table. Theo knows the look in her eyes, he’s seen it plenty of times in Draco’s; it’s that sneaky twinkle.

Theo doesn’t give Draco a chance to lie, “You know Hermione Granger, don’t you Mrs. Malfoy?”

If Draco was upset before, he’s livid now. Theo _nearly_ feels bad, but he knows this is necessary. Draco is so stubborn, too stubborn for his own good. 

“Miss Granger? My, Draco…” Narcissa trails off, the twinkle still present in her eyes. 

Draco stands then and straightens his pants out. He looks down towards his mother and glares over at Theo, “I believe Father said he wants to see me before I leave.”

Theo stifles a laugh at Draco’s insistence to remove himself from the uncomfortable situation. So typical, only comfortable when he’s the one making others uncomfortable.

“Oh yes, Dear, he did say that. I believe he’s in his office,” Narcissa grins at him. “No worry, we can continue this conversation when you’re back. Theo, staying for dinner?”

Theo grins at Narcissa - his accomplice, he thinks to himself - and nods, “I would be delighted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Awakening** : It's a happy, cheerful piece meant to bring forth the image of nature.
> 
> Surprise! Two updates in two days. This is one of my favourite chapters and I hope you all like it too.
> 
> I'd like to thank everyone for more than 100 kudos on this story! I'm so happy you've all taken a liking to this. Enjoy xx


	11. The Swan

#  _The Swan_

* * *

[ Carnival of the Animals: The Swan ](https://open.spotify.com/track/3U8Fx7zNTQrctytkj6Gqgd?si=55dba3937c894fd5)   
Written by: Camille Saint-Saëns   
Performed by: Isata Kanneh-Mason, Jeneba Kanneh-Mason, Sheku Kanneh-Mason

* * *

Hermione arrives back at Hogwarts on Saturday evening. She takes a portkey from Australia back to The Burrow and for possibly the last time in her life, she rides the train back to Hogwarts with Ginny. It seems unlikely she’ll leave for Easter break: it’s too close to her N.E.W.T.s and the break isn’t long enough to go to Australia.

She feels nostalgic on the train and tries to memorize as many hills, streams and patches of grass as she can. She tries to commit the journey to memory so one day she can close her eyes and hear the sound of the train chugging along and the cabin doors closing and see the Scottish landscape outside her window. She tries, but she knows she’s probably forgetting something. She knows there’s something that she’ll experience for the last time, but she doesn’t know what it is.

She’s had plenty of time to think about her feelings for her new Slytherin friend but she’s still as uncertain as she was when she left for break. She hasn’t known Draco well for that long and she’s unsure of what could be going through his mind. Of course, none of it matters if he doesn’t feel the same way. A part of her is sure that he’s only looking for a friend. Can she be alright just being a friend for him? She thinks so.

She wakes up Sunday morning unable to shake the anxious feeling at seeing Draco for the first time in a few weeks. They haven’t spoken since they separated for the holidays and to be honest she’s nervous. He’s been with his family for the last two weeks, what if he’s no longer interested in being her friend? What if something happened?

She tries to shake off the thoughts and splashes cold water on her face after brushing her teeth. She takes note of the dark circles under her eyes and pats on a bit of concealer then uses her pinky finger to swipe on some lip balm. Hermione twists her hair into some semblance of curls.

Her hair hasn’t been the same since their year on the run. She’d hit it with so many straightening spells to make it easier to keep out of the way and it’s never been the same since. Her tight curls have turned wavy and limp. Only once she’d done it did she realize how much she missed the crazy curls. 

A Sunday in the castle means she can don her comfy denims and a large fluffy sweater that hangs off of her body. She’s definitely put weight on, she needed to. Her mother was right, after their year on the run all three of them had been thin and sickly looking: pale, bones visible and exhausted. She looks at herself in the mirror and is pleasantly surprised at the colour in her cheeks.

Hermione’s not sure when Draco is coming back and she’s not sure when she’s going to see him. She definitely didn’t have plans to enter the Great Hall, take a peek at the Slytherin table and walk towards it once she sees Draco and Theo. The two Slytherins had sat with her at the Gryffindor table numerous times over the last few weeks but Hermione had never ventured to the Slytherin table before.

Theo’s facing her and he looks smug in his smile as she slides in at the end of the table next to her blond-haired friend. Draco seems tense, his shoulders high near his ears when she sits down and for a moment Hermione’s afraid he doesn’t want to see her. But then he looks at her and his shoulders drop. A light smile finds its way to his lips and his eyes soften as they run over her face.

“You’re back,” Draco murmurs, his eyes still glancing over her face, likely taking note of her tan.

Hermione grins at him, “I’m back. How was your holiday?”

“Terrific, thank you for asking,” Theo butts before Draco can answer. Draco looks less than pleased with his friend. “You look nice, been away?”

Hermione runs a hand up against her cheek, feeling the heat of her blush that she hopes is invisible, “Yes, actually. I spent a week in Australia with my parents. It’s their summer season so we spent lots of time at the beach.”

“The beach?” Theo’s face lights up and she notices him giving Draco a look. “I’d love to go to a beach, I’ve heard there’s lots of swimming costumes there.”

Hermione frowns, brows furrowed in confusion, “Well, yes. People do swim at the beach, Theo.”

She glances at Draco only to see him looking down at his empty plate. Hermione takes in his sallow skin tone and the way his hand slightly shakes from its place on top of the table. She chews on her lip in thought and nearly misses Theo’s next comment.

“Cossie’s don’t cover too much, do they?” Theo asks, a smirk on his lips. His blue eyes are lit up in mischief, Hermione can see it. She rolls her eyes at him and doesn’t miss the way Draco huffs next to her.

“Depends on the cossie,” she answers, ignoring his implication. 

“And yours?” He asks, looking far too proud of himself.

Before she can reply Draco’s closed fist hits the table loud enough for the Slytherin’s sitting near them to look over and for a couple of other students walking by to stop. Without a second thought, Hermione places her hand over his clenched fist. Draco looks murderous in his glare aimed at Theo. 

Theo shrugs his shoulders, “Just a question.”

“You’re awfully full of questions lately, Nott,” Draco says, “And comments.” His hand opens from its clenched position and Hermione removes her own. He clears his throat and takes a sip of pumpkin juice.

Theo gives Draco a bright smile and Hermione finds herself utterly confused. She got what Theo was hinting at - he’s a man after all. She isn’t completely inept when it comes to men; she’d noticed the way even her best friends had looked at her the few times they’d seen her in a bikini when they’d all travelled to Australia. She’d rolled her eyes at the time and snapped her fingers at her face. At least they’d managed to look the tiniest bit embarrassed at being caught. Of course, over the next few days Ron routinely had his hand down her knickers so...maybe that wasn’t the best example.

In any case, Draco had reacted strongly to Theo sexualizing her, and not in a good way. Perhaps he did just view her as a friend and was trying to protect her from the less-controlled dark-haired Slytherin. Or perhaps...no, nevermind.

“Did you have a nice time with your parents?” Draco asks softly and places two pieces of toast onto her plate, moving the jam towards her. He seems to do it without even realizing it because he scowls at Theo shortly after.

Hermione spreads a thick layer of raspberry jam onto her toast and nods, “I did. It was really nice to see them, although my mother seems quite intent on convincing me to move there after school.”

Draco clears his throat and goes for his pumpkin juice again and Theo stays quiet this time, “Are you thinking of moving?”

Hermione quickly shakes her head and looks to Draco, “No, not at all. I love them and would love to be near them but I’d like to stay in England.”

Hermione finishes her breakfast and listens to Theo as he groans about their holiday. She learns that Theo has Nott Manor to himself with his father in Azkaban and he found himself flooing over to Malfoy Manor quite often, including for Christmas dinner. 

“Are you close then? With Draco’s parents?” Hermione asks and cleans her mouth with her napkin. Draco’s also finished his food and sitting silently listening to their conversation.

“Oh yes,” Theo says with a grin. “Narcissa and I always find things to chat about.”

Draco stands then and steps out from the bench. Hermione sees he’s wearing black slacks to go along with his thin grey sweater and she shivers when he places his hand on the back of her shoulder. 

“Feel like going for a walk?” Draco asks, his face hopeful. 

“I’ll just have to grab my cloak,” Hermione says, pushing up from the table. She glances down to see Theo still sitting with a mischievous grin on his face.

“No need, just through the castle,” Draco says. He keeps a hand pressed lightly to Hermione’s back as she steps out from the table and gives a curt nod to Theo. Hermione gives him a small wave and follows Draco out of the Great Hall.

Hermione and Draco fall into step next to each other as they wander throughout the castle. Draco’s hand falls from her back and their fingers bump while they walk. Draco’s lips are poised in what looks like a permanent smile.

“How was your time with the Weasley’s?” Draco asks politely, footsteps loud in the empty hallway.

Hermione humms, “It was nice to see everyone again, different though. Is it bad that it almost feels boring without something bigger hanging over our heads?”

Draco shakes his head at her question, “No, I know what you mean. For so long it felt as though my life wasn’t my own.”

Hermione looks to Draco, pleasantly surprised that he seems to understand, “Exactly. There was always something else, there was always some higher pressure. Now that it’s done I’m just not sure what my purpose is.”

Their fingers bump again, their covered arms brushing. Hermione lets out a shaky breath when she feels Draco grasp her hand in his, their fingers sliding next to each other. His palm is cool and his hand so much larger than hers. It’s the press of his ring against her fingers that cause her to look up at him.

Draco gives her a sad smile, “I’m not sure of my purpose, either.”

Draco pulls her down the hall to a small alcove and takes a seat on the bench pressed back against the wall. Hermione sits next to him, hands still entwined. He pulls their hands to rest on his thigh and Hermione chews her bottom lip at the placement.

“Did you end up staying the two weeks at your home?” Hermione asks.

Draco lets out a small huff and nods, “Unfortunately, Mother was insistent. Theo was there often though, so it wasn’t so bad.”

Hermione nods and considers whether she should ask her next question. She looks up to see him looking at her, his grey eyes focused on hers.

“I know you want to ask,” Draco snickers and runs his thumb over the soft skin on her hand. “I spoke to my father. We came to a...compromise of sorts. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of misunderstandings between us and we were able to work some of that out.”

Hermione nods and makes a noise of acknowledgement, “And the...nightmares? Were they as bad as you expected?”

Draco lets out a shaky breath and runs his free hand through his hair, pushing the blond locks away from his eyes before he lets it flop back down. He shakes his fringe out of his eyes and Hermione stamps down on the urge to run her fingers through the soft hairs.

“Yes, at first, but as the time went on I found they’d lessened,” Draco explains. “I brought back more balm from home, by the way. If you need more.”

Hermione smiles graciously and pulls her other leg up onto the bench. She turns so she’s facing him, with her knees pulled up to her chin. Hermione notices a small tear in the hem of her denims and the fingers of her free hand start to pull threads loose.

Draco clears his throat and Hermione looks up to see him holding his wand and nodding towards the hem of her denims. Hermione pulls her hand away and points her foot out a little closer to him.

“Reparo,” Draco mutters, his wand moving in a near circle. “You are a Witch, you know?”

Hermione rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out as her denims knit back together, “Yes, I’m aware.”

They’re quiet then - Draco puts his wand away in his pocket - but it’s a comfortable silence. Hermione rests her chin on the tops of her knees and watches as Draco runs his thumb along her hand again.

“Your hands are soft,” Draco mutters quietly.

“You said that,” Hermione whispers.

Draco almost looks...embarrassed, a light flush sitting on his cheeks. But he doesn’t pull away from her hand, instead he squeezes it again. Hermione’s breath stutters when she sees a touch of black on the skin of his left forearm, his sweater drifting up. With her other hand, she reaches out to his and pushes the soft grey sweater up and the edges of his Dark Mark become visible.

“I thought…” Hermione trails off, her finger nearly touching the black tattoo before Draco pulls his arm back, his hand unclasping hers.

Draco pulls his sleeve back down and keeps his arm close to his body and his eyes down on the floor, “I couldn’t get any of them to work.”

Hermione frowns but isn’t surprised. It had taken finding a rare glamour spell for one to work on her own cursed scar. His was placed with the intention of being seen and used. There likely isn’t a glamour spell strong enough to cover the dark magic.

“I can help you look for others, there must be more that I didn’t find,” Hermione says, intent on helping her friend.

Draco shakes his head and gives her a hint of a smile, “No, you don’t have to do that. I spoke to my father and he hasn’t been able to find a glamour that’s ever worked either. Besides, more of it has turned to a scar.”

Hermione chews on the inside of her cheek. It’s what she thought, but she was hopeful one of the glamours would work for him. She thinks of her own scar hiding under her sweater sleeve and a glamour.

“Can I see it?” Hermione asks, surprising both herself and Draco. She had tried so incredibly hard that night in his room to avoid looking at the Dark Mark, afraid of what the sight would do to her dreams.

Instead of answering, Draco slides the sleeve of his sweater up and holds his arm out to Hermione. He looks nervous and stares at her, keeping his hand on his sleeve as if he’ll need to push it back down as quick as possible. Hermione takes in a deep breath and looks down at his forearm.

Almost the entire skull of the Dark Mark has turned into a scabbed over scar that reminds her of her own, but the snake continues to show deep and dark against his alabaster skin. She wonders if it feels like hers. 

Her hand reaches out of its own accord and Draco hisses when her fingers brush the black snake. It’s slightly raised but smooth like the rest of his skin. The skull, however, feels nearly identical to her scar. The lines are raised and a reddish colour, looking more like a fresh scab than a faded scar. 

An almost imperceptible shake starts in Draco’s hand as Hermione runs her fingers down the tattoo, over the veins in his wrist, ending in the centre of his palm. She pushes her own sleeve out of the away and vanishes the glamour until she can see the _mudblood_ scar. She pushes her own forearm so it’s next to Draco’s and encourages him to look down.

“It looks and feels the same as mine,” Hermione says. “It’s in the same place too.”

She reaches over for Draco’s other hand and pulls it over until his fingers brush against her scar. He nearly jumps at the feel of the raised letters and tries to pull away, but Hermione continues to hold his wrist. 

“I’m so sorry,” Draco mumbles, his fingers soft and careful as they trace the letters. Hermione hears him sniff and sees his eyes are wide and red.

“It’s not your fault, Draco,” Hermione says softly. She places her hand over his and holds it close to her. “It’s not so bad anymore.”

Draco scoffs, “Not so bad? How can you say that?”

“I just don’t think of it like that anymore,” Hermione shrugs. “I don’t think of it as proof that so many people in our world think there’s something wrong with me.”

Draco shakes his head and looks up at the entrance to the alcove when he sees the candles flicker on, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with you,” Hermione tells Draco and nudges his uncovered arm. “You didn’t ask for that, you don’t want to be marked. We’re the same, Draco.”

Draco shakes his head and pulls his hand away from hers, a dark look sitting in his eyes, “We’re not the same, Hermione. You’re inherently good, I’m not.”

“That’s not true. Tell me, did you ask to be marked? Did you take it willingly?” Hermione asks him.

Draco looks into her eyes once again and slowly shakes his head, “No. No, I didn’t. But no one believes that, so it doesn’t matter.”

Hermione stands up and paces in front of the bench, “Who cares what they think Draco? You think I don’t hear the whispers about my scar? What kind of life would I lead if I only listened to what others had to say?”

“It doesn’t matter. People feel sorry for you, they don’t think you’re a murderer, they don’t think you’re undeserving of a second chance. People fought _for you_ , Hermione. People fought _against me_ ,” Draco hisses at her, sitting up straight.

“You didn’t have a choice Draco, you did it because you had to. You did it for you and for your family,” Hermione tells him. She turns to face him and grabs both of his hands, “You survived, Draco. Instead of looking at the mark and only seeing the worst in yourself, look at it and think of how you _survived_.”

Hermione gasps when Draco tightens his hold on her hands and pulls her between his open thighs, “I survived while others - our innocent classmates - died. Our marks are not the same, and I will have to live the rest of my life with the knowledge of what they both mean.”

Hermione blinks when she feels tears filling her eyes. The tears slide down her face, dripping onto her neck. She’s sure her face is red and puffy at this point, but she doesn’t care. All she wants is to convince Draco that he’s not the inherently bad person he seems intent on being.

She takes in a calming breath and lets out a big puff of air, “You won’t change my mind, Draco. I see the good in you and I won’t let you forget that.”

She steps back and drops Draco’s hands. She runs a soothing hand over her forehead and pushes her hair back, away from her face. She turns and peeks out the alcove to see the windows, now a view to the setting sun. She wipes at her eyes as she looks back at Draco.

“I think I should go,” Hermione says.

“Let me walk you back to your common room,” Draco mumbles and stands up. He ensures his sleeve is pushed back down to his wrist before exiting the alcove and stands apart from Hermione as they walk up the stairs to the seventh floor. 

Hermione shivers as they walk and she realizes that her sleeve is still pushed up her arm. Her _mudblood_ scar is out in the open for all to see. But instead of feeling self-conscious and rushing to push her sleeve down, she feels free. 

Draco walks her all the way to the portrait at Gryffindor Tower and Hermione sighs as she looks up at her friend. He looks dejected, and Hermione feels bad for how far off track their conversation ended. She opens her mouth to apologize but Draco beats her to it.

“I’m sorry, for how I reacted,” Draco explains calmly. He’s standing with his hands crossed behind his back and a standoffish look to his face.

“I’m sorry for pushing it,” Hermione says plainly. The movement of her left arm causes Draco to look down and see her scar again, out in the open. He looks almost stunned but nods.

“Don’t be sorry,” Draco says and tries to give her a smile. “Don’t stop pushing me.”

Hermione offers a smile back and walks towards the portrait, “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The Swan** : Also known as _Le cygne_ , it's the last piece in the Carnival of the Animals suite. It's connected to Anna Pavlova's ballet and _The Dying Swan_ written by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Our first hint at a Tennyson connection.
> 
> Enjoy this update xx


	12. Träumerei

#  _Träumerei._

* * *

[ Kinderszenen, Op.15: 7. Träumerei ](https://open.spotify.com/track/7rrDSYbroZhV6aKkbYxiuG?si=9686be41373946bb)  
Written by: Robert Schumann  
Performed by: Alfred Brendel

Theo looks up when Draco enters their room and immediately notices the strained look on his friend’s face. His shoulders are pulled up to his ears and lips are pressed in a tight line. Theo quirks his eyebrow at his friend but Draco just shakes his head and heads to the washroom.

Draco had been with Hermione most of the day, Theo assumes. They’d left together at least and Theo hadn’t seen either one for the rest of the day. Usually Draco came back from time with Hermione in a better mood, but if possible he seems to be in a worse mood than he was in that morning.

Theo closes his book and waits from his horizontal position on his bed for Draco to come back out of the washroom. He’s never known his friend to be so hot and cold. To be honest, he’d never known his friend to be hot. The blond-haired Slytherin had been so cold for so long it seemed less like a personality trait and more just a function of his being.

“Trouble in paradise?” Theo quips once Draco’s back in their room. He watches Draco open his wardrobe and fiddle around with something. Draco pulls out the small familiar glass jar and rubs some of the balm into his wand hand with a frown on his face.

Theo finally sits up when Draco doesn’t so much as look at him. He puts his legs over the side of the bed and sits with his hands pressed to the bed beside him, “Everything okay?”

He can see Draco give him a curt nod before he stands back up and puts the jar back in his wardrobe, “Yes, fine.”

Theo scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Yes, you seem fine.”

Draco fixes him with a glare - more normal - and grits his teeth, “Shove of Theo.”

Theo puts his hands up in defence, “Hey, I’m just trying to be a good friend.”

It’s Draco’s turn to scoff as he takes off his wrist watch and settles himself into a reclined position on his bed, “Is that what you were doing this morning? Or with my mother?”

“I thought you’d appreciate a description of her cossie,” Theo snickers and ignores Draco’s second question.

Draco runs his hands over his face and mumbles something unintelligible into the palm of his hand. Theo grins, “What’s that you said?”

Draco groans and turns his glare on him again, “I said that’s the problem.”

Theo can feel his brows raise into his hairline at that comment. Was Draco really admitting what Theo had been pushing at for the last few weeks? Theo could see it clear as day in his friend: he was interested in being more than friends with the Gryffindor Witch but his deep sense of self-pity and guilt had convinced him it wasn’t appropriate.

“What’s the problem? Exactly?” Theo asks carefully, not wanting to scare Draco off from confiding in him.

Draco shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair. Theo sighs, “Come on Draco, you can tell me.”

Draco shakes his head again and closes his eyes. Theo takes the opportunity to try out the stinging hex variation that Narcissa had taught him only a few days before. Draco yelps when the hex hits him the ribs and glares murderously at him. Theo grins.

Draco stands up and starts to pace across their shared room. He looks like he’s on the verge of opening up so Theo stays seated and waits and waits and waits until he can’t take it any longer, “Draco?”

Draco stops and turns to face Theo, “We have so much in common, our likes and dislikes, our interests. She makes me feel like I can be proud of myself. Do you know what she told me today?”

Draco doesn’t wait for Theo to respond before he continues, “She told me that she sees _good_ in me. She told me that this,” he pulls up his sweater sleeve and Theo hides his grimace at the partially scarred Dark Mark, “isn’t a reminder of all of the bad things that I’ve done, but a sign that I _survived_.”

Theo continues to look at Draco, silently urging him to continue to open up. Draco sighs and sits on the end of his bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, “I don’t know how to be what she says.”

Theo looks at him, confusion taking over his features. What an idiot.

“Draco, she just wants you to be yourself,” he says quietly, looking at the youngest Malfoy.

Draco looks at him then, eyes full of surprise and something else...consideration maybe? Theo can see his hands clenched into fists and can see the half-moon marks from his nails in the palm of his hand.

“She told you that you _are_ good, not that you could be good,” Theo elaborated. He stands up and wanders the few steps to Draco before slapping a palm down on his shoulder, “And I’m sorry to tell you but she’s right.”

Draco shakes his head, “I’m not Theo. I’m not a good person. You know the things that I’ve done - even just things that I’ve _considered_ doing take away any goodness that I might have had in me.”

Theo takes a seat next to Draco and keeps his palm on his friend’s shoulder, “That’s where you’re wrong Draco. You never did anything purely for enjoyment or because it’s what you believed was right. You did it for-”

“Don’t say it,” Draco mumbles, eyes down on the floor. Theo softly smiles.

“You did it for your family, Draco,” Theo tells. “And that makes you good.” 

* * *

Hermione screams that night. She knows because her throat is burning and raw and Ginny is shaking her awake. Her heart is beating double time and her skin is clammy, sweat running down the side of her forehead into her hair.

Ginny grasps her hands and holds them tight. It’s then Hermione realizes she’s also violently trembling, more than just gentle shakes running from her shoulders to her hands. Hermione pants and tries to settle her breath.

“You’re okay ‘Mione,” Ginny mumbles, fingers pressing into her hands. Hermione nods and shudders, gasping in a deep breath.

“Water,” she croaks out, her throat still burning from overuse. Ginny whispers an aguamenti at the empty glass on her desk and hands the cup to her friend. Tears dribble down Hermione’s face when Ginny hands her the glass but her shaking causes the water to spill. Ginny grasps the glass and holds it up to her lips, letting her take a few small sips.

Hermione groans when she feels a cramp forming in her left calf and she whips her blankets off to try and press fingers into the seizing muscle. Ginny does her best to help, following Hermione’s fingers with more pressure than she can manage right now.

“The drawer, a jar,” Hermione mumbles, eyes closing in pain and hand generally pointing to her desk. She can hear Ginny moving items around before she’s back at her side with the glass jar.

“It’s a balm,” Hermione grits out, willing the trembling to stop. “It helps stop the tremors.”

Ginny makes a noise in acknowledgement and sets out rubbing the balm into her hands. She pulls at Hermione’s t-shirt, pushing the short sleeves up to her shoulders to reach her entire arm. Hermione shivers as the tremors on her left side slowly come to a stop and manages to get control of her breathing.

She closes her eyes and tries to remember the dream. She thinks of the tent again, those damn springs pressing into her back and the musty smell filling her nose. This time though, she actually stands up from the cot. She can see that ratty pair of jeans on her legs again and the beat up runners. She remembers looking over to the other side of the tent and sees Harry’s messy hair, his body sprawled out on his own uncomfortable cot. She can hear Ron outside, mumbling something to himself as the wind whips around the tent.

A shiver goes through her. The image of that tent is so suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles to Ginny. Every time this happens Ginny stays up to help her and lately, it’s happening far too often.

“The tent again?” Ginny asks, fingers trailing over her calf.

Hermione nods, “I think so.”

Ginny’s quiet as she continues to rub the balm into her other arm and leg and Hermione finally relaxes. Her hands are still minutely shaking but nothing like the shakes she’d woken with. Her clock on her desk tells her it’s 3:30 in the morning and Hermione feels badly for her friend.

“You should go back to sleep, Gin,” Hermione urges. “I’m alright now. Thank you, seriously, so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ginny gives her a soft smile and a mumbled “you’re welcome” as she places the lid back on the jar and slips it into her drawer. “Where’d you get this from?”

“Draco gave it to me,” Hermione whispers. Her whisper seems so loud in the dark, almost as if it bounces off all four walls around her and reverberates back to her ears multiplying the volume. She looks over to Ginny and sees her nod in acceptance.

“I think I really like him, Gin,” Hermione admits and avoids looking at her friend. She keeps her eyes on the ceiling and lets out a slow breath.

Ginny sits on the edge of her bed and grasps her hand, “It’s kind of obvious, ‘Mione.”

Hermione slowly looks over at her friend and grumbles, “It is not obvious.”

“It is, believe me,” Ginny mumbles. “Even Harry mentioned it when you’d left over the holidays. He’s strangely accepting of it, you know? He thinks you’re good for each other.”

Hermione blinks in silence. Harry thinks Draco is good for her? And that she’s good for him? “You’re joking,” Hermione says.

Ginny shakes her head with a shrug, “Nope. I think he feels bad for Malfoy, especially after speaking to him.”

Hermione chews on her lip and tries to imagine what Harry and Draco had spoken about. Clearly whatever it was, was enough for the Department of Magical law Enforcement to completely clear both Draco and his father. 

“He’s a good person,” Hermione mumbles. “I know you find it hard to believe but he is. He feels so much guilt over everything that happened.

Ginny surprises her when she pats her hand and says, “I know.”

Ginny stands up from the side of the bed and fills the water glass again with a quiet aguamenti.

“Try to sleep, ‘Mione,” Ginny says softly before quietly leaving her room. 

Hermione closes her eyes and lets out a deep sigh. She can feel herself drifting off again when the rustle of the trees and the continuous pat of dripping rain invades her mind again. Her eyes snap open and she holds her breath. Sleep doesn’t seem reasonable, not tonight.

* * *

The first day of classes after break is disastrous for Hermione. She misses breakfast, forgets to put on her tie, nearly knocks over her cauldron in Potions and may have fallen asleep during Ancient Runes. By the time dinner comes around, she begrudgingly follows Ginny to the Great Hall and eats the roast the red-headed Witch puts on her plate. 

She doesn’t keep up with any of the conversations and rubs her eyes more times than she can count. At one point, her yawns turn infectious with nearly her entire section of the Gryffindor table following suit. Ginny gives her a pat on the arm and suggests she head off to bed. Hermione nods and waves to the rest of her housemates.

She can feel her feet dragging against the floor alongside her bookbag which she just doesn’t feel like she can pull over her shoulder. By the time she’s out of the Great Hall she’s looking for an empty bench that maybe she can rest her eyes on, just for a few minutes.

The weight of her bookbag vanishes and she blinks in confusion at the body standing in front of her. A large hand reaches out to grasp her shoulder and steady her and she blinks into the face of her Slytherin friend.

“Hermione? Are you alright?” Draco asks, voice full of concern. She can see he’s carrying her bookbag over his shoulder and his eyes are focused on her.

“So tired,” Hermione mumbles, shuffling her feet over to the bench.

“No, no, I’ll help you upstairs,” Draco mutters, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and steering her away from the bench that looks comfier by the minute.

“Just a few minutes,” Hermione groans, trying to turn back to the bench. Does she have a fever? Is she hallucinating? Is she even in control of her feet?

Draco pulls her into the side of his body and directs her back towards the stairs. Hermione doesn’t have the energy to argue. Instead she folds herself into Draco’s side and lets him lead her up the steps. By the time they’ve reached the third floor she’s reaching for a bench again.

“Just a few more flights,” Draco says to her, his arm holding her up and guiding her as they walk.

Hermione’s eyes are heavy and she feels like she’s imbibed in too much alcohol. Had she? No, she doesn’t think so. She clutches Draco’s robes with her hand and lets out a sigh at the feel of his back beneath her hand.

On the fifth floor, Hermione pulls free from Draco for just a second when she spies an empty bench in an alcove. She makes it just a few steps before Draco groans and pulls her back into him. 

“Just two more floors, sweetheart,” he whispers, tugging her up the stairs, again. Hermione’s legs feel like jelly and she doesn’t think she’s ever climbed so many stairs before. She must though, if they’re going to where her room is.

Wait, sweetheart? Hermione’s breath hitches in her throat and that single word feels like a splash of cold water. He called her sweetheart, which he’d never done before. She feels slightly more awake as they walk about the rest of the stairs and finally come to a stop before the portrait entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. 

She goes to pull away from Draco but he keeps his arm around her back, “I’ll help you inside.”

Hermione mutters the password and rolls her eyes at the judgemental look the Fat Lady gives her. The common room is still empty, with everyone down at dinner, and she leads Draco over to her room. 

Without a word she flops down onto her bed and breaths out a low content sigh at finally being in a horizontal position. She cracks her eyes open and sees Draco staring at her with an amused smile on his face. He puts her bookbag down onto the chair in front of her desk.

“Thank you for walking me up,” Hermione mumbles, flashing him a sleepy smile.

Draco nods and Hermione pats the edge of her bed, inviting him to sit down. He takes a seat and Hermione takes a deep breath. She can smell the woodsmoke on him again.

“I don’t think you would’ve made it on your own. You were really going for those benches,” Draco smirks. His face softens and he asks, “Everything okay?”

Hermione hums in response, “Mhm. Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Nightmares?” Draco asks. Hermione turns on her side so she’s facing him and reaches her hand out to play with the edge of his robe.

“And tremors, again,” Hermione says softly, looking up at his face. He looks concerned and contemplative, almost like he’s trying to figure out a way to take her nightmares.

“I’ll give you my Ancient Runes notes tomorrow,” Draco says with a barely-there laugh.

Hermione groans, “Was I that obvious? I couldn’t help it, my eyes felt like they were being held shut by pixies.”

“I don’t think you were obvious, but I noticed,” Draco replies.

Hermione peeks up at him again with a grin. He noticed her.

“I’ll let you sleep,” Draco says and stands up from the bed. He picks up his bookbag and throws it over his shoulder. He grasps the doorknob in his hand and turns to her, “Sleep well, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Träumerei** : It means to muse. No. 7 is the most popular in this suite and is the most famous of Schumann's works. It has been used in a few movies.
> 
> Well, this is a little shorter than I wanted but I feel like it does its job. I'm currently up to my neck in a research report for work and spending some time away from data points and in this fictional world is a nice change of pace. Enjoy xx


	13. Berceuse

#  _Berceuse._

* * *

[ L'oiseau de Feu - Suite (1919): Berceuse ](https://open.spotify.com/track/6agLQb3hx6ATw3161GTuwZ?si=c608d79c02444648)   
Written by: Igor Stravinsky   
Performed by: Orchestre de l'Opera Bastille, Myung-Whun Chung

* * *

Hermione groans at the sound of birds of chirping; it feels far too early in the morning for the cheery noises. She brings a hand up to push her hair away from her eyes, but the tangled mess falls back into place once she moves her hand. She huffs as she yawns and sits up, the birds still going. She knows she won’t be able to get back to sleep.

Her feet brush rough carpet when Hermione swings her legs over the bed. The ground feels cold, even through the carpet, and Hermione twists the elastic from her wrist into her messy hair to get it up and out of her eyes. Her eyes flick to the wall across from the bed and she stands up in a long stretch. The sweater covering her torso is long and baggy and keeps the warmth in as she walks out of the makeshift room.

“Morning ‘Mione,” Harry grumbles at her from his place at the table. He’s sipping a cup of tea and folding a napkin in all different directions.

“G’morning Harry, sleep alright?” Hermione asks from the small and dingy counter. She pours herself the rest of the hot water from the kettle into her favourite mug and tosses in a bag of earl grey. 

“Yes, alright. You?” Harry mumbles, his focus and attention on the napkin. Hermione watches her friend fold the napkin in half, then in half again only to open it back up. He folds the corners into the centre, creating a smaller square. He folds those corners in, making an even smaller square.

“Are you making a cootie catcher?” Hermione asks, bouncing the string attached to the teabag in the water. The water has turned a light brown and she knows it’ll only take another 20 seconds before it’s perfect.

“Trying to…” Harry trails off. He takes the pen from beside him on the table - quills and inkpots are preferable to write with but too messy for their situation - and starts writing small notes onto each corner of the catcher. He finishes his masterpiece by writing numbers on the inside and the names of four different colours on the front, before he folds it into place and pinches the bottom between his thumb and forefinger on both hands.

“Ask a question,” Harry says, his green eyes flashing up to Hermione. Hermione pulls the teabag out of her mug and throws it away in their garbage before she wanders closer. She hums in thought.

“Will my hair try to kill me in my sleep tonight?” Hermione snickers while she pours a touch of milk into her tea. She stirs the tea with her spoon watching the nearly transparent liquid turn opaque and lighter in colour.

“C’mon ‘Mione, a real question,” Harry flaps the cootie catcher with his fingers.

“I didn’t realize what an exact science this is,” Hermione mutters. She takes a sip of her tea and closes her eyes at the warm liquid. It’s the one thing that’s stayed the same these long months on the run. She starts each day with her favourite tea, made just the way she likes it. 

Harry huffs and holds the cootie catcher out to her again, waiting for her to ask a question. Hermione sighs, “Alright, let’s see...is our journey in the forest coming to an end?”

Harry nods, accepting the question, “Now pick a colour.”

Hermione points to the corner that says “YELLOW”. Harry flicks the cootie catcher in and out six times until Hermione can see the inside. Her choices are 3, 4, 7 and 8. She narrows her eyes at the numbers and takes another sip of her tea. “Number eight.”

Harry looks down at his hands and counts eight flicks, pushing and pulling the folds of paper until he lands on the same four numbers. He looks up at Hermione expectantly and she puts a finger to her lips in thought.

“You know this isn’t real, right?” Hermione asks, eyes staring into Harry’s green ones. Harry rolls his eyes and motions to the cootie catcher again. 

“Alright, alright. Number four,” Hermione decides, taking another swallow of her tea. She grimaces and looks down at it, the taste more bitter than her first. It looks the same, the same colour as it always is. Hermione furrows her brows and closes her eyes. A flash appears, like lightning, breaking up the darkness.

Hermione jumps, opens her eyes and watches in what feels like slow motion as Harry unfolds the number four. Her breath stutters in her throat and her chest tightens as she watches Harry’s fingers curl under the triangle. 

She breathes in the musty smell, the dew and forest coming to her mind. Her eyes flick to the entrance to the room, no, the tent. Why is she back in the tent? Harry’s fingers pull open the triangle then and he looks down at what he’s written but doesn’t read it out loud.

“Harry?” Hermione whispers. Her fingers clutch the mug of bitter tea and her feet curl into the carpeted floor underneath her. No wonder the floor feels so cold, the ground only a few centimetres beneath her feet. 

Harry slowly looks up at Hermione, his eyes wide and his face white. Hermione can see the end of his scar peeking out from beneath his unruly bangs - the bangs Hermione had unsuccessfully tried to cut just last week. Or, was it? It couldn’t have been last week. Last week she was with…

Hermione slowly moves back from the table. Her tea sloshes against the sides of the mug she’s holding when the tremors start down her arm. She backs up faster and trips on an unruly corner of one of the carpets causing the mug to crash down on the carpet. The tea spills everywhere but the mug doesn’t break.

She looks up and sees Harry approaching her, still with wide eyes, unblinking. Hermione pulls her hand up to her chest, covering her heart that’s beating so hard in her chest she thinks she can feel it pressing against her sternum.

“It says no, Hermione,” Harry says in a flat tone.

“What?” Hermione whispers, confused.

Harry stands directly in front of Hermione, the folded piece of paper now crumpled in his hand, “Our journey isn’t coming to an end.”

Hermione wakes with a sob, flying up into a sitting position. Her eyes are open wide, trying to let any and all light in. She blinks wildly, encouraging her eyes to see. Her hands reach out to feel the comforter on the bed and she swings her legs over the side of the bed only relaxing when she feels the soft plush carpet between her toes.

The room is warm and she huffs in a breath that thankfully smells like the castle and not the dew of the forest. Her arms wrap around herself on their own and she squeezes, trying to press the slight tremors out of her arms. Tears fall onto her bare thigh, just missing the edge of her oversized night shirt.

The nightmares happen nearly every night now. Ginny has been to her room at least four times the past week and she’s thankful her throat isn’t burning with screams. Her hand runs over her face, pressing into her eyes and lightly touching the bruised circles. What started as a touch of concealer has become a full makeup routine every day, anything she can do to erase the sleepless nights. 

The clock on her desk tells her it’s nearly time to get up so she runs a hand through her hair and reaches over for the pajama pants hanging over her chair. Hermione wiggles into the pants and ties the drawstring around her waist. She and Ginny have plans to go to Hogsmeade today so she decides to forgo washing her hair and instead just grabs her body wash, towel and robe.

The showers are empty when she gets to the washroom and a sliver of new light flashes against the white tile.The water is warm and comforting against her tense muscles and she spends a little longer than necessary standing underneath the spray, her hair piled up on the top of her head to stay dry. When she turns the shower off she’s immediately met with the sounds of retching.

Hermione dries off quickly before putting on her robe and putting her slippers back. She ventures farther into the bathroom and taps softly on the only closed stall, “Excuse me? Are you alright?”

A groan greets her from within, “M’fine.”

Hermione frowns at the familiar voice. She grimaces when the retching noise reaches her ears again and waits until it stops. She can hear dry heaves from within.

“Can I get you something to help?” Hermione asks, hand poised to push open the unlocked stall door. It’s silent for nearly 30 seconds before the voice behind the door pipes up again, “Yes you can get me my boyfriend’s bollocks in a paper bag.” 

Hermione frowns, “Ginny?”

“‘Mione?” 

Hermione pushes the door open and lets out a sigh at the sight of her friends knelt before the toilet, her head leaning against the bowl. Her face is sticky with sweat and paler than her normal light skin tone.

“Oh Gin, you should go to Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione mutters as she leans down and rubs a hand down Ginny’s back. “She can give you something to stop this.”

Ginny shakes her head and spits into the bowl, “I think I’m alright.”

Hermione nods and steadies her friend as she stands. Ginny wipes a hand across her forehead and lets out a big breath. Her features are twisted, likely from the taste in her mouth, and she leans against the stall.

“Come on, you should shower and then go back to bed,” Hermione says and leads her to the shower stalls. “We can go to Hogsmeade another day.”

Ginny groans, “No Hermione, I’m okay. We can still go-”

“Nope, I won’t hear of it. You’ll shower and go back to bed,” Hermione tells her. “Let me go grab your towel and I’ll be right back.”

Hermione starts to turn towards the door before she gasps and turns around, “Hey Ginny…”

Ginny pokes her head out of the shower curtain with her eyebrows raised. Hermione steps closer to her red-headed friend and narrows her eyes, “Why do you want to maim Harry?”

Ginny chews on her bottom lip and stares down at the ground. Hermione waits for her to answer. No, she can’t be…

“Do you think you’re...you know?” Hermione asks.

Ginny finally gives her a shrug, “The thought has crossed my mind.”

Hermione stays quiet as she looks at her friend. Her very young friend. Her very young friend with an immature boyfriend. Her very young friend with an immature boyfriend and six older brothers. 

“Take your shower, I’ll leave your towel for you, then come straight to my room, alright?” Hermione says to her.

Ginny nods, a frown touching her lips which makes Hermione stop, “It’ll be okay Gin.”

Ginny gives her a half smile and disappears behind the shower curtain again. Hermione dashes to Ginny’s room, her roommates all still asleep at this early hour on a Saturday morning, and grabs Ginny’s towel from her wardrobe as well as a clean pair of sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt. She hangs the towel up on the hook outside of Ginny’s shower stall and heads back to her own room to pull on a pair of dark blue jeans and an oversized light pink sweater.

Hermione immediately pulls out _Practical Household Magic_ and flips through the pages until she reaches the section on basic diagnoses charms. Her fingers drag down the page until it lands on the pregnancy detection charm. The book had been a gift from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the summer before they’d run off to the woods.

The woods…

Hermione lets out a calming breath and shakes her head of the images of the tent she’d dreamt of only an hour earlier. It’s been quite a morning so far, Hermione thinks to herself.

A tentative knock sounds on her door before Ginny’s pushing it open wrapped only in her towel and carrying her pajamas. Hermione hands her the clothes she’d taken from her room and turns around to give her privacy.

“Over the holidays?” Hermione asks quietly, facing her bed. 

Ginny mumbles out a “yes” and Hermione lets out a soft sigh. It’s not the end of the world, she knows Harry will be right by Ginny’s side, but Ginny has things she wants to do and experience. She wants to play quidditch professionally, which she decidedly cannot do if she’s pregnant.

Hermione turns back around once Ginny stops changing and takes a seat at her desk chair. Hermione picks up her wand and clears her throat, “Did you use anything?”

Ginny slowly nods her head, “We used the charm but Mum told me once that Fred and George were conceived regardless of the stupid thing.”

Hermione grimaces at the information and nods, “I can check, if you want. I have the spell here but honestly Ginny, it’s entirely possible that you’re just sick. You used the charm and I’m pretty sure your parents are the only ones who’ve had it fail before. They really should be interviewed by Magical Accidents and Catastrophes…”

Ginny quirks an eyebrow, “Are you calling the twins a magical accident and catastrophe?”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “No of course not, I’m just saying…”

Ginny groans and leans her head back, hand laying low on her stomach. She pulls her shirt up a few inches until Hermione can see the smooth pale skin above her sweats, “We might as well do it.”

Hermione gives her friend a smile and raises her wand to the red-headed witch’s midsection. She clears her throat and thinks of the wand movements in her mind. She takes a deep breath and mutters the charm, her hand moving counter clockwise then zagging down.

A dull white light emits from above Ginny’s midsection and both witches let out sighs of relief. Ginny throws her head back with a grin on her face and Hermione smiles at her friend, “See? Just sick. I think you should go to Madam Pomfrey though, she can give you something.”

Ginny chews on her lip but nods and Hermione slips her shoes on, “I’ll walk you over.”

She shushes her friend when she tries to protest and the two witches walk through the halls and down the stairs until they reach the second floor. They’re within a few steps of the doors to the hospital wing when Ginny stops Hermione with a hand on her sleeve and wraps her in a hug.

“Thank’s ‘Mione,” Ginny mumbles into her shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do with you.”

“The feeling is mutual, Gin,” Hermione says softly, her hand wrapped around Ginny’s wrist.

Ginny steps back from her with a smirk and Hermione quirks an eyebrow at her before she shivers at the feeling of someone standing close to her back. She whips around to see Draco barely a step away from her and gasps, pressing a hand to her heart.

“You scared me!” She hisses at Draco. He’s grinning at her, his hands in the pockets of his slacks and dark blue sweater complimenting his eyes.

Draco puts his hands up and takes half a step back, “Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Hermione nods and turns to Ginny but her friend waves her off, “I’ll be fine, you go. Actually! Malfoy, do you have plans for the day?”

Draco slowly shakes his head and glances quickly at Hermione before turning his attention back to Ginny, “No, no plans today.”

“Great, Hermione and I were supposed to go to Hogsmeade but I’m not feeling great. You two should go.”

Hermione slowly shakes her head, “You don’t have to go to Hogsmeade with me.”

“You don’t want me to go with you?” Draco asks, his voice soft.

This time Hermione vehemently shakes her head, “What? No, that’s not- I mean, you don’t have to take me. But if you want to go…”

Draco gives her a light snicker, “Relax Hermione, we’re going to Hogsmeade.” He gives a small wave to Ginny who’s standing behind her, “Feel better.”

Ginny nods in thanks and turns to head into the hospital wing, “Have fun ‘Mione!”

* * *

Hermione pulls her scarf tighter around her neck as they exit the Three Broomsticks back into the snow and wind. The wind has picked up since they entered the pub and the snow falls faster and heavier. She’s thankful for her boots as they walk the uncleaned path through the village.

Draco’s step-for-step beside her, shortening his usual long stride to avoid walking ahead of her. She grins at the site of his grey hat sitting over his hair and covering his ears. His nose and cheeks are pink from the cold. 

They’d spent the morning and majority of the afternoon wandering around the small wizarding village, popping into shops that caught their fancy before they headed to the pub. Together, they enjoyed a pint or two and a bowl of warm soup. The day had been more than pleasant and she'd learned a little bit more about Draco in their conversations. It surprised her how much Draco was willing to open up and she always worried that he'd all of a sudden decide to shut her out. Instead, he'd told her pieces of his childhood - the times that were happy - and his limited memories of his grandparents. Hermione, in turn, shared her own happy childhood memories.

“I wish the snow would stop,” Draco mutters, kicking the white flakes off of his boots and brushing it off his shoulders. They’d both switched out their usual winter cloaks for actual winter coats, the snow and wind too much for the material. 

“Really?” Hermione asks. She wiggles her fingers in the oversized gloves Draco had given her earlier in the day. She hadn’t realized she’d forgotten her own pair until they were already more than halfway to Hogsmeade, “I like the snow.”

Draco playfully groans and mimics her, “Really?”

Hermione lightly knocks her shoulder into his as they finally exit the village and try to follow the path as much as they can remember it. It’s completely covered with snow.

“Yes, really. It brings back good memories for me,” Hermione explains. “It reminds me of tobogganing as a child down hills and building snowmen with my friends.”

“Tobogganing?” Draco asks, the word sounding unfamiliar on his lips. He’s looking at her curiously.

Hermione grins at him, “You get these flat sleds and pull them up to the top of a hill then sit on them and slide all the way down.”

Draco’s look can only be described as disbelief.

“It’s fun, I swear it! You’d enjoy it,” Hermione giggles, nudging his shoulder once again with her own.

Draco rolls his eyes and keeps his steps in time with her own, "I don't see how climbing a hill only to slide back down is fun."

They’re just rounding a bend and Hermione is fairly certain they’ve veered off the path and onto the grass. She can see the castle in the distance, large and imposing on the landscape and she smiles at the feeling of home that settles into her.

It’s like a warmth, moving from her heart up into her shoulders, down into her legs and reaching her fingertips and toes. She can see Draco look over to her and she finds herself lost looking into his eyes. They’re so different but so perfectly Draco, she can’t imagine him with anything other than grey.

She’s still dissecting his eyes when she feels it just beneath her foot, or actually, doesn’t feel it. One minute she’s looking into his face, drawn into his eyes, and the next she’s looking up to the sky, clouded over and grey. There’s small snowflakes drifting down towards her face and sticking to her eyelashes. 

The snow is cold and wet beneath her and she can feel the ends of her hair soaking and freezing. She lets out a small groan, stuck between embarrassment and amusement at the situation.

“Oh Merlin, are you alright?” Hermione blinks when Draco’s face comes into view over her face and she can’t help it when she starts to laugh.

She laughs so hard she can’t breathe and feels tears rolling down her cheeks. She laughs wholeheartedly, her entire body shaking and gasps come out of her mouth as she fights for more air. She laughs so loud Draco stumbles in his current position leaning over her and finds himself falling next to her, right into the pile of snow.

Of course, this only makes Hermione laugh harder until Draco fixes her with a look she’s sure would maim - although likely kill - anyone else who dared to laugh at him. Her laughs fade into giggles and she covers her mouth with her hand to keep them quiet. 

She chews on her lip with wide eyes and wipes away the tears tracks that are freezing against her skin. Draco looks...angry, angrier than she thought he’d be. It’s just snow after all, although his earlier comments clearly mean he doesn’t like snow.

She’s about to try pushing herself up from the snow when she hears light laughter coming from beside her and when she looks she sees Draco’s body shaking. Hermione giggles at him and before she knows it, both of them are laughing loudly.

The laughter starts to trail off and Draco groans as he pushes himself up into a sitting position, “Oh Gods, I’m going to be soaked.”

Hermione grins and turns a little bit so she’s looking directly at him, “It’s a good thing you’re a wizard.”

Draco rolls her eyes at her wink and gives her a light push so she falls back into the snow, turning himself over so he’s now facing her. He pulls his hat off and runs an uncovered hand through his blond hair. He puts the hat back on and looks down at her.

They watch each other for what feels like an eternity but is only a few seconds. Hermione swears he’s getting closer to her. She can see the light pink on his cheeks and nose and the tiny puffs of air coming from the barely-there split between his lips. His lips are a dull pink and she wonders how soft they are. 

This close his features don’t look pointed and sharp. She’d always thought his nose and cheekbones made sharp straight lines, but she can see how soft his cheeks are now. Her fingers twitch in his gloves, the urge to reach up and run her fingers against his skin almost too much.

Hermione spies a light twitch on his lips that turns into a smile and she matches him with her own. She feels the warmth of his breath and then the touch of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Berceuse** : A berceuse is like a musical lullaby. This is from the 1919 suite of the L'oiseau de Feu ballet. Stravinsky was commissioned to write the music after there was already a concept for the ballet. You may notice the next chapter has familiar music to this...
> 
> This past weekend I had the opportunity to actually start and finish a novel I've been wanting to read, and instead of feeling proud of myself I found myself harbouring feelings of sadness at finishing the book and leaving the world it transported me to for just a little while. On that note, I found this chapter difficult to write but I hope you all like it nonetheless.
> 
> I hope you're all surviving out there in this crazy world. Enjoy xx


	14. L'oiseu de Feu

#  _L'oiseau de Feu._

* * *

[ L'oiseau de Feu - Suite (1919): Final](https://open.spotify.com/track/0mTUTkFQ2MxmUHFL8EdfeR?si=3c9423df5df74efe)  
Written by: Igor Stravinsky  
Performed by: Orchestre de l'Opera Bastille, Myung-Whun Chung

* * *

She feels the warmth of his breath just before she feels his lips press against hers, soft and tentative. The pressure is light but his lips mold right to hers, fitting into place as if a piece to a puzzle. Her mouth parts in a gasp and his hand comes up to lightly grasp her chin. His lips press minutely harder and Hermione finds herself meeting him equally.

Kissing Draco is not as she thought it would be. She’d imagined it more than a few times but it had always been passionate and insistent, not soft and tentative. In her thoughts he’d always roughly grabbed her chin, fingers trailing to her throat, and overtaken her lips in a dominant display. This though, this was nothing like what she imagined.

She’d kissed Ron and Viktor, and maybe a few boys when she was home for the summer. Ron’s kisses were always hurried, a means to an end for them both. Except for _that_ kiss. Neither could be blamed for _that_ , they’d been fairly certain it would be their last night. Her kisses with Viktor were immature and with other boys mostly experimental. 

Draco’s tongue just nudges her lips but doesn’t tangle with hers and he pulls back, fingers still resting on her chin. Neither says anything but their breath mingles, tangling in whisps. Hermione opens her eyes and stares straight into his grey orbs. 

“Are you alright?” Draco asks softly, fingers tracing across her jaw.

Hermione nods, for the first time in her life at a loss for words. Now that they’re no longer kissing, her fingers trace up to her lips as if to question whether it actually happened. She runs a finger tip over her bottom lip and closes her eyes; yes, the ghost of his lips against hers tingles.

Draco pulls back from her all the way, pushing himself up and brushing the snow off. He extends his hand out to Hermione and she accepts, pulling her up and out of the pile of snow she’d originally fallen into. Before she can reach into her pocket to grab her wand, she feels her clothes dry and become warmer and she gives Draco a smile.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispers. She moves closer to him, just a step away from his body.

“You’re welcome,” Draco replies, his eyes glued to her own.

Hermione glances around but doesn’t see anyone coming their way, “We should probably get back.”

Draco nods and moves over to where the path is. He holds his hand out for her so she can step across the snow without worrying about sliding and falling again. She grasps his hand and carefully moves over to him. When she tries to let go of his hand, she feels his squeeze back. Hermione looks up at Draco and shyly smiles in answer to his grin.

Their walk back to the castle is quiet but comfortable, her glove-covered hands gripping his bare ones. Surprisingly, her mind isn’t racing with questions. Surprisingly, her thoughts have quieted and she doesn’t feel like she needs to press him for answers. She’s simply content to hold his hand and press her lips together, basking in the tingle.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Hermione says softly, looking at the tall Slytherin out of the corner of her eye.

They’ve nearly reached the Hogwarts grounds, another fifty steps and they’ll be through the gate. She doesn’t feel a pressure to search for answers from him, but she wants to give him a chance to ask her. She knows he can close in on himself and she doesn’t want that to be the case here.

“I enjoyed it,” Draco replies and gives her fingers a squeeze. His cheeks are still tinged pink and he has a relaxed smile on his lips but it’s the look in his eyes that really strikes her. His grey eyes, normally so closed off with every intention of appearing flat, are sparkling. Hermione looks up to the sky but the sun is still hidden behind dense grey clouds as snow continues to fall. 

“Your eyes…” Hermione breathes out, coming to a stop. Draco stops too and holds both of her hands in his. Facing her, Hermione can see the flecks of blue, looking like jewels glittering in a grey cloud. 

Draco looks at her expectantly, an eyebrow quirked, and Hermione wets her lips, “They’re more complex than I thought.”

Draco looks away and if Hermione hadn’t already noticed the pink tinge to his cheeks she’d think he was blushing. He pulls a hand from her grasp and presses his thumb to her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. His thumb swipes across her jaw and nearly up to her lips.

“Says the Witch with the gold eyes,” Draco whispers to her.

He leans in again and lets his lips rest lightly against hers, almost like an imaginary kiss. Her eyes flutter closed but the second the light is blocked out the feather light touch is gone and his fingers are no longer touching her jaw.

She hears Draco let out a small laugh and she opens her eyes, his face coming into view. She thinks she’s blushing now; she feels the flush on her chest and is fairly certain it’s working its way up her neck. Draco either ignores it or doesn’t notice and pulls her alongside him again on the path.

It’s a miracle no one has come across them, but the snow is falling fairly hard. She’s sure most of her classmates chose to spend the day in the warm castle instead of outside trudging through the uncleaned path.

“I do not have gold eyes,” Hermione mutters, letting him lead her through the gates to the castle grounds.

Draco shrugs his shoulders and says plainly, “You do.

“I do not, they’re brown,” Hermione insists. “Maybe there’s flecks of gold, but they’re just brown.”

“I believe I stare into your eyes far more than you gaze into your own,” Draco says, a smirk on his lips.

Hermione rolls her eyes and gives him a quiet scoff. No one had ever described her eyes as gold, and no one ever would. There were maybe a dozen more steps to the castle and Draco continued to hold her hand as they got closer. She wasn’t sure if he’d want this to be a secret, or if perhaps he’d want to forget the kisses all together. She hopes he wants to remember them.

She’s not sure what this means for them. Will they just continue to be friends? Maybe just friends who kiss. They haven’t discussed anything else and Merlin knows it has only taken eight years for them to agree to be friends. Who knows how long it would take them to agree to be anything more. Hermione tries not to think about it; there’s no guarantee he’ll want anything else and she doesn’t want to get her hopes up. 

They walk up the steps to the castle, still hand in hand, and Hermione relishes the warmth of the hall. The fires are alive and thriving and she temporarily lets go of Draco’s hand to take his gloves off. Draco takes them from her and slips them into his pocket and any concern she had over her empty hand is quashed when his fingers slip between hers. She can feel the cool press of his signet ring now and she squeezes his fingers.

Draco walks her up to the Gryffindor Common Room, all the way up seven flights of stairs, until they’re standing in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. Draco takes his hat off and smooths out his hair. Hermione can see the static in it but just smiles. His cheeks seem flushed, no longer light pink from the bite of the cold but a rouge. 

“Thank you again for going with me,” Hermione says and gives him a soft smile.

Draco shakes his head, “You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad we got to go together.”

Hermione bites down on her bottom lip, the awkwardness of the situation catching up to her. She whistles out a sigh and shuffles her feet, her eyes still on Draco. Draco looks comfortable - confident even - and Hermione glances away.

“Are you going to ignore me now?” 

Hermione’s eyes shoot to his and she looks at him incredulously, “Me? Why would I ignore you?”

Draco shrugs his shoulders, “Well, I mean, I figure one of us is probably going to have a breakdown about what happened.”

Hermione snorts a laugh, “And why do you think it’s going to be me?”

“It won’t be the first time you’ve ignored me and if that’s your plan I’d rather we just talk it out now,” Draco grins at her. He takes a step towards her and Hermione takes a defensive step back.

“How do I know that you’re not going to ignore me this time?” Hermione asks. Draco takes another step closer and she follows it with another step back. This continues until Hermione feels the stone wall against her back. Her breath hitches in her throat when Draco takes a final step forward.

Hermione’s pressed between the wall and the tall blond-haired Slytherin. She can feel his muscular thigh pressed to her hip, his shoes nudging her own. His chest is close but not touching her own until their inhales press them closer together.

Draco’s fingers trail up her arm to her shoulder, brush the edge of her collarbone and press lightly against her throat. His thumb comes up to rest on her chin and she shudders at the cool press of his ring.

“How do I know, Draco?” Hermione breathes, their lips a hair’s breadth away.

Instead of giving her an answer, Draco presses his lips to hers. There’s more pressure this time, his lips pushing firmly to hers. They’re completing the puzzle again, the shape of his lips matching hers perfectly. They’re warm and soft where his fingers and ring are cold against her skin. Draco slowly pulls back and Hermione stamps down the whimper threatening to release.

“Don’t ignore me,” Draco tells her.

Hermione lets out a long breath when Draco pulls back and walks backwards down the hall. He gives her a small cheeky wave and winks, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Hermione nods, stepping towards the portrait.

“Say it, Hermione,” Draco shouts from down the hall.

Hermione rolls her eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco.”

* * *

Theo openly rolls his eyes at his friend’s permanent smile and sparkling eyes when he sees him for dinner that evening. The blond is happily chowing down on his roast and potatoes and Theo can feel his leg bouncing beneath the table.

Theo groans and puts his fork and knife down with a loud clatter, groaning again - louder - when Draco doesn’t react. Draco simply flicks his eyes up to him, smiles, and goes back to his dinner. What could possibly have Draco in such a good mood? Theo glares at his friend and grumbles under his breath. He’d woken that morning expecting to head to a pub in Hogsmeade or jump on his broomstick with the moody Slytherin but hadn’t been able to find him all day.

That is until he sauntered into the Great Hall looking like the cat who’d caught the canary. Theo taps his foot impatiently, waiting for Draco to say something to him about what he’s been off doing but Draco either ignores him or doesn’t notice him.

“So?” Theo presses, tired of the silence and Draco’s annoyed grin.

Draco looks up to his friend and quirks his eyebrow, “So what?”

“Sew buttons, become a tailor,” Theo mumbles then scoffs when Draco looks at him thoroughly confused. “So, what’s got you in such a pleasant mood?”

Draco shrugs and pops another piece of roast into his mouth, “Just had a good day is all.”

A good day? On his own? Usually Draco only gets moodier and more unbearable the more time he spends alone, meaning he couldn’t have been alone today. He must’ve been with someone, but who?

Theo nearly thumps himself on the forehead. 

“With Hermione?” Theo asks, hoping he sounds nonchalant. 

Draco’s hand pauses on his cutlery for barely a second before he continues cutting his roast and nods, “Yes, with Hermione. We went to Hogsmeade together.”

Theo grins at his admission and leans forward like the gossiping Slytherin that he is. Narcissa would be _so_ interested to hear this, and he knows Draco isn’t going to tell her unless absolutely necessary. Who was he to deny Narcissa something she’d love to know?

“What’s with the overall positive demeanor? I mean you’ve spent time with your Gryffindor before,” Theo tells him.

“She’s not _my_ anything,” Draco grumbles with his sickening smile still on his lips. “And I’m always positive…”

Theo snorts, loud and clear. Positive his arse, Draco is everything but. Negative, yes. Moody, absolutely. Even prickly on a good day. But positive was not something anyone would ever associate with the grey-eyed Slytherin. 

“Sure, we can go with that…” Theo trails off and clears his throat. “Anyway, something must have you in a _more_ positive mood than usual.”

Draco chews his potatoes thoughtfully and takes his time. He swallows and drinks down some water. Theo watches his hand, looking for any sign of a tremor but sees none. He doesn’t look nervous or like he’s trying to hide anything, just like he’s trying to find the right words.

“We’re best friends mate, you can tell me,” Theo elaborates. 

Draco sighs and puts down his cutlery. He folds his hands on the table before him and considers Theo with narrowed eyes. Theo hopes he’s putting on his most innocent, trustworthy face but for all he knows, he might not have a face that conveys that kind of look.

“Can you...not do that with your face? Whatever that is…” Draco mumbles. Theo rolls his eyes and stares blankly instead. “I ran into Hermione this morning outside the hospital wing with Weasley, so I went to see if everything was okay. Weasley said they were supposed to go to Hogsmeade today and that I should go with Hermione instead, and I said yes.”

“We did a little shopping and had lunch and then...we walked back,” Draco says plainly.

Theo snorts, “Bullshite mate, what else happened?”

Draco runs his hand through his hair - his most obvious nervous habit - and groans, “Alright fine, we were walking back to the castle and she slipped and fell. I fell with her and while we were on the ground covered in snow I kissed her.”

Theo smirks at his friend and gives him a wink. He might also start to do a small fist pump in the air until Draco reaches over and whacks him, “Alright, alright. I’m just happy for you!”

“I don’t know if it means anything yet,” Draco says softly, looking back down to his now empty plate. “I made her promise not to ignore me but we didn’t talk about anything specific.”

Theo shrugs his shoulders, “She’s into you, I can tell.”

“You can tell?” Draco asks incredulously. 

Theo turns around in his seat to peek back at the Gryffindor table and grins when he sees Hermione twisted around to look at them. He gives her an exaggerated wink and sniggeres when she whips back around, “It’s a gift.”

Draco shakes his head and flexes his fingers on the table. His signet ring clangs against the edge of the table and Theo watches him smile, “Remembering something?”

Theo grins when Draco shifts uncomfortably, “No.”

“I’m all ears if you want to tell me,” Theo says. He really could use more details for his note to Narcissa.

Draco narrows his eyes at him and Theo quirks an eyebrow, “What?”

“Please keep it to yourself,” Draco mutters. “I know you’re itching to owl my mother.”

Theo freezes in his seat before masking his features in confusion, “Your mother? I hardly know Mrs. Malfoy…”

“Cut the shite, Nott,” Draco grits out. “Don’t say anything to her. I’ll tell her when I’m ready and I want her to know.”

Theo groans. He thought he’d been careful - he’d been more careful about his correspondence with the Lady Malfoy than anything else in his life, including his blatant dislike and disregard of his Death Eater father. But of course, Draco knew.

“I won’t say anything,” Theo mumbles.

Draco stands and claps a hand on Theo’s shoulder in appreciation. He gathers his robes in his arm and leans down to mutter in Theo’s ear, “It’s probably a good idea not to leave your letters out.”

Theo groans.

* * *

Hermione’s forehead thuds down to the table between the opening of her folded arms. She’d been trying to write a letter to Harry for the better part of an hour but so far had been unable to get her thoughts out on paper. This was so unlike her. If there was anything Hermione Granger was known for, it was getting her thoughts out and putting them on paper in elaborate explanations.

Instead she scraps the eighth slip of parchment and pulls another clean piece over. She dips her pen in the inkpot and chews her lip in thought, considering what it is she really wants to say. Why is this so difficult? Harry is her best friend and has been there for her through everything.

He’d even been supportive of her friendship with Draco, so far.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath letting the warmth from the fireplace wash over her face. It burns into her cheeks running down her torso, down her legs to her toes. Maybe...she was writing to the wrong person. Maybe she should really be writing to Ron.

_Dear Ron,_

_I’ve been sitting in the common room for nearly an hour trying to pen a letter to Harry. You know me, how easily words flow from my brain through my pen to the parchment and yet I’ve scrapped eight pieces. It seems tonight I’m unable to say what I want to say to Harry._

_I hope you don’t mind that I share this with you but at the moment you seem to be the only one my thoughts are willing to spill across the page for. I miss seeing you everyday and feeling your arms wrap me in hugs. I miss our friendship and our late night conversations. When I was in Australia I found myself thinking about you more than once, your figure appearing out of thin air into a place you’d been standing only months prior._

_You know I love you. I always will, but you also know why this would never work between us. What I feel for you isn’t romantic - not really. It’s more than that, a deep unshakeable connection that I can’t imagine not feeling everyday for the rest of my life. I know you feel the same._

_That’s why I hope you understand why my words are flowing to you and not Harry, even though the subject is intimate. You asked me over the holidays if I like him, Malfoy, and I told you that I didn’t know. I was telling you the truth Ron, I really didn’t know. I think I do know now though._

_I may not know how he feels or what he’d like to happen but I know how I feel. I do like him Ron, more than a friend. I know it’s hard to believe but we really do have a lot in common and I feel as though he understands me on a deeper level. We share scars and marks we’re not proud of but are working towards acceptance. We share tremors and shakes that haunt us during the worst times. We also share nightmares that strike nearly every night._

_When it comes to the nightmares, I’m afraid I take advantage of Ginny’s kindness most nights. The nights my throat is raw and sore - from screaming - I wake to Ginny’s calming press to my shaking limbs. She rescues me from the nightmares and I’m not sure how to repay her._

_While Draco may not help me out of the nightmare, he understands the nightmares. He also understands the feeling of being purposeless. It’s hard to go from having the entire point of your life dictated and following a clear path to being able to decide what it is exactly you want to do. He gets that Ron, he knows that feeling._

_I don’t think I’m asking you for advice, just sharing. He kissed me today in the snow. It was different than I expected but I find my fingertips brushing against my lips constantly, feeling the familiar tingle. I don’t want to get too descriptive but he makes me feel a way I didn’t think possible._

_I want to be happy, Ron. I want to have a purpose in life, something I set for myself. It’s hard not to feel like I’m disappointing someone, but I don’t want to live my life in fear of others reactions to my actions. I want to be accepted._

_I don’t know what good this rambling letter will be to you but I felt as if I needed to let someone into my head. Even if you don’t get this far, at least I was able to extend my thoughts to parchment. It helps to write things down._

_I like him, Ron. But I don’t know how to proceed. Will he take the lead? Will he wait for my approval? I’m not sure. I’d like you to meet him though, actually meet him. I don’t want you to think of him as the prudish and rude little blond-haired Slytherin. He’s as misunderstood as we are._

_I wish you and Harry had come back for another year. School’s not the same without the two of you._

_All my love,_

_Hermione_

She stares at the letter long after she’s written it, amazed that the words had flowed when it was intended for Ron, but not Harry. She supposes she could just change the name at the top, but then the letter wouldn’t make sense. It has to go to Ron

“Who are you writing to?”

Hermione twists to see Ginny already in her pajamas and a comfortable robe, standing near the stairs to their rooms. She looks off...twisting her fingers and shuffling in place. Far from the confident Witch she usually is. They all have their moments, Hermione supposes.

So she opens her arms wide and smiles when Ginny darts forward. She flops down on the couch and crawls into Hermione’s hug, resting her head against her shoulder and keeping her arms tight around her friend. Hermione accepts the squeeze.

“I intended to send a letter to Harry but, it’s actually to Ron,” Hermione says softly, not wanting to disturb the peace and quiet in the common room. It’s well past a normal time to sleep and the fire has burned down to its coals. She runs her hand lightly over the red-headed Witch’s hair. 

“Are you feeling better?” Hermione asks.

Ginny shrugs and sighs, “Yeah, Pomfrey gave me something for the nausea. She said there’s nothing actually wrong with me and before you ask, yes she did the charm too.”

Hermione closes her mouth and nods, “Did she say why you were feeling nauseous?”

“Not really, well, sort of. I had a bit of a breakdown with her and it turns out anxiety can induce nausea, who knew?” Ginny mentions nonchalantly. Her voice is timid though and Hermione knows this is more than a one time thing.

“Oh Gin,” Hermione mutters, smoothing her hand down Ginny’s hair again. “You could’ve told me. I’ll always listen to you. You’ve done so much to help me with my nightmares.”

Ginny shakes her head but Hermione can feel small wet dots dripping through her top and onto her neck and chest. Hermione hugs the younger Witch tighter as the tears start to come in earnest.

“I think it’s just...it’s all getting to me,” Ginny sniffs. “I didn’t think it would be this hard.

Hermione stares into the burning embers, her hands moving in calming circles along Ginny’s back. She understands the feeling. For a while she felt like she was always on the verge of a breakdown, or at least a meltdown. She cried herself to sleep nearly every night after the Final Battle, filled with memories of fallen friends, nightmares and thoughts of what could have happened.

She always thought the Final Battle was the hard part, but it was only the beginning. The hard part was sorting through all the thoughts and fears she’d collected over her years involved in the war. She’d done things, used spells and hexes she never thought she would. She’d wished Witches and Wizards on the other side of the war both pain and death. And now, all of a sudden, everything was supposed to go back to normal.

“Have you talked to Harry?” Hermione asks. She keeps her voice soft and quiet.

“A little, but I always feel bad talking to him. I know what he’s dealing with is so much worse than me-”

“Don’t do that Gin, don’t compare your suffering to others,” Hermione tells her. She places her hands on either side of Ginny’s face and tilts it up to look at her. Her eyes are red and puffy from the tears.

“Everyone went through horrors, Ginny, not just Harry, not just me, not just Ron. You know any of us would be more than willing to listen to you,” Hermione tells her. “You don’t always have to be so strong, you know?”

Ginny calms and Hermione can hear her taking in deep breaths, letting them out slowly. She feels a very timid nod against her chest,

“When I thought that I could be...pregnant…” Ginny trails off, pushing up off Hermione and sitting back a little. She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands, “I can’t even take care of myself properly, ‘Mione. How could I ever care for anyone else?”

Hermione chews on her lip in thought, “You care for Harry.”

“That’s different, Harry doesn’t _need_ me.” Ginny mutters, rubbing a tissue at her nose.

“Are you kidding Gin?” Hermione asks with a laugh. “That man _does need you_. The way he talks about you and I know how many letters he sends you. You’re everything to him, Ginny.”

Ginny gives Hermione a shy smile. She brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, “Maybe…”

“We all went through unimaginable trauma, Ginny. Everyone. And just because it doesn’t show itself like my tremors or my nightmares, doesn’t mean it isn’t real. You can’t get stuck in your own head, you have to talk about it. If not to me or your family or Harry, then someone else,” Hermione tells her. She puts hand on one of Ginny’s and squeezes it.

“I know,” Ginny whispers. “I will.”

Hermione offers her friend a smile when Ginny grasps her hand and gives it a squeeze back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **L'oiseau de Feu** : The finale part of the suite. In my mind, I could hear this song to Hermione and Draco's first kiss.
> 
> A few tiny notes. **First** , "sew buttons become a tailor" is known in my family as a Pete-ism after my Grandfather and is a play on So/Sew. **Second** , you may be wondering why I never write from Draco's point of view. Draco's mind is a mystery to all, including me, and Theo is my second-hand way into his thoughts. **Third** , I want to thank every single person who has read, commented, given kudos and bookmarked this story. I am immensely grateful for you all. Enjoy xx


	15. Etude

#  _Etude._

* * *

[ Etude No. 2](https://open.spotify.com/track/5bi8ryL6gy6a1BRXOf43y9?si=195a4ce89c47421a)   
Written by: Philip Glass   
Performed by: Philip Glass

* * *

“It doesn’t make sense,” Hermione mutters, a scowl dragging down her features. Her curls are wild today for the first time in more than a year and she’s not sure why. She’d showered that morning, dried her hair as usual and there they were: her curls had popped.

Draco’s quiet next to her, his hand large and comforting as it covers her own, nodding along with her and listening to her contemplate her change in hair style, “Maybe the charm finally ran out?”

Hermione hums in thought and twists a tight curl in her fingers. She was just _finally_ getting used to her wavy hair, had realized how much easier it was to tame and style in the mornings, and now the curls were back, “Perhaps. Maybe I’ll just charm it again.”

She stumbles over her feet when a jerk to her hand pulls her back from forward motion. She stares at Draco in surprise, his hand still wrapped over her own and the obvious culprit of the jerk, and raises her eyebrow to him, “What?”

Draco shakes his head with a soft smile on his lips, his eyes glinting in the light, “Don’t charm it.”

Hermione rolls her eyes and tugs on the curl still around her finger. Don’t charm it? If there was anyone who _hated_ her hair in this castle, it was Draco. Wasn’t it? He’d made fun of her curls since she was a first year, his judgy eyes narrowing in disgust when he’d had to lay eyes on the mass.

“I like it better like this,” Draco says before he shrugs. He tugs on her hand and starts their walk again. The weather is finally warming up and spring truly feels as if it’s in the air. The snow has melted, leaving dark puddles on the ground in its wake, but the temperature no longer calls for boots and coats. Their cloaks manage just fine.

“Very funny, Draco,” Hermione scoffs, a touch of annoyance coming through. “You and I both know you hate my hair like this.”

She feels Draco’s hand tighten around her fingers and he shakes his head again, denying her claim, “I don’t hate your hair like this.”

Hermione stops this time and yanks Draco back to stand next to her. They’ve been walking through the courtyards for about 20 minutes, avoiding puddles and enjoying the fresh air. Out here, where it’s only the two of them, there’s no one to stare and whisper behind their backs. 

Neither of their houses have been entirely kind to their developing relationship. They’re each met with glares when they sit at the other’s table for meals and Hermione had heard more than a few insults directed her way from her own house for ‘consorting with the enemy.’ They both ignored them as much as possible but the snide comments were tiring, and Draco and Hermione searched high and low for places they’d be left alone.

“So you...didn’t insult my hair for nearly seven years, then?” Hermione questions the tall Slytherin standing next to her. They don’t speak often of their past, although Hermione had apologized for punching him in the face. Draco had laughed and refused to accept an apology for something he wholeheartedly deserved.

“I mean, I did but not because I didn’t like it,” Draco mutters, his eyes focused on the stone beneath their feet. Hermione’s not embarrassed about the undignified snort that tumbles out.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Hermione says.

Draco sighs and tugs her closer to his body. He places a hand on the side of her neck and lets his thumb run the length of her jaw. Despite their topic of conversation, Hermione smiles at him and waits for the incoming press of his lips to hers. She’s not disappointed.

Warm lips press into hers confidently and comfortably. Their lips know their places now, finding and filling the grooves and gaps. A content sigh leaves her mouth and she feels Draco’s lips twist into a smile before he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers.

His hand moves up and tangles in her curls, pulling them taught before he lets it bounce back into ringlets, “I was an arse. Forgive me?”

Hermione presses her lips to his in acceptance of his apology, just a light touch before she pulls back from him, “Forgiven.”

“Don’t charm your hair back,” Draco mutters before adding on a “please.”

Hermione agrees and tugs him forward to continue their walk through the grounds. It always surprises her how normal everything feels. She remembers the cracked fountain, bodies strewn all over the ground. She looks up and in her mind’s eye sees a giant towering over them, club swinging to and fro. The shaky breath that she releases is met by a squeeze of her hand and a soft smile.

“I see it too,” Draco tells her. “It’s hard not to. Broken walls, bodies, spells flying. Sometimes when I’m walking through the castle or over the grounds, even just lying on my bed at night, I smell it too.”

Hermione nods, “I do too. The fiendfyre burning, sweat…blood.”

They wander over to the fountain that looks no worse for wear and sit down beside each other. It’s lightly drizzling, but nothing an impervius charm can’t block from hitting their clothes. They talk often about the war and she’s pleasantly surprised when Draco opens up about his role and the role of his family. She listens with an open mind and an open heart when he explains their mindset and the state of his family and home during the prior year. She knows he feels an immense amount of guilt for his actions, but she tries to bring his attention back around to the good things he’s done, to the ways he’s helped.

Draco smiles sadly at her when she brings those things up and she knows deep down he doesn’t believe her, but nods for her sake. She’ll keep trying.

“Sometimes I question whether it was all real, whether it actually happened,” Hermione mentions, their hands still connected even as they sit. “In the muggle world there are reminders, at least for a while. There are ruins from buildings destroyed beyond repair, there are unofficial memorials that people use to remember those who died.”

Hermione takes a deep breath, “But here? It’s all gone. All the damage is repaired, the blood cleaned, the dead forgotten. Doesn’t it seem awfully quick to mourn?”

She watches Draco carefully as he licks his lips and considers his words, “It is quick. It was quick, too quick. But I think for people who weren’t here and didn’t go through what we did they just want it forgotten so they can go back to their regular lives.”

Hermione quietly agrees and stares at the castle she’s called home for seven years. At first she had been impressed at how quickly damage could be repaired. It physically hurt her to see the castle so destroyed, home to more dead bodies than it had ever seen before. But just because the physical damage had been repaired, just because the bodies had been removed and the evil vanished from their world didn’t mean everything was over. 

Draco got that, he understood that more than some of her friends could.

“I’m so grateful to have you in my life,” Hermione says to him, turning her body so she can look into his eyes. It’s too soon for any admissions of love and she can’t confidently say that she does love him. But she appreciates his presence in her life.

Draco looks surprised and taken aback. Has anyone ever told him that before? Surely his parents had expressed their love for him before. Surely, right? She knew there were issues there but Draco had told her his childhood had been generally happy and positive. 

Draco’s mouth opens and closes a few times, an appropriate response escaping him. He clears his throat and runs his thumb over the sensitive skin on her hand, “No one has ever said that to me before.”

Before Hermione can open her mouth to respond, Draco raises his other hand to stop her. She waits and lets him finish his thought.

“My parents have told me they love me - hell, so has Pansy at one time or another - but no one has ever told me they’re _grateful_ for me,” Draco trails off. Hermione can see it in the way his eyes flicker from side to side, his thoughts run a mile a minute as he tries to find the right words. 

“I am, Draco,” Hermione says quietly, not wanting to disturb his thoughts but intent on ensuring he believes her.

“I’m grateful for you too,” Draco whispers, his eyes moving to catch hers. The grey orbs are cloudy, a storm brewing, and his pupils are slits.

Hermione nudges his shoulder with hers, “You don’t have to say it back.”

Draco shakes his head, “I’m not just saying it, I’m grateful you’re in my life. I’m grateful to have someone so thoughtful, so smart, so caring...so forgiving.”

Hermione feels her cheeks burn, a red blush settling on her face. She lets out a soft breath, coming out like a whistle, and grins at his admission. She was sure she’d weaselled her way in, showed him she wasn’t going to abandon him for his past mistakes and choices, and here was the proof. 

She leans in to his body and chases his lips with her own. It’s more than the light peck she’d given him just minutes earlier. It’s a full press, full of emotion from both sides and a touch of what Hermione thinks might be passion. 

They’ve yet to talk about what, exactly, they are, but Hermione doesn’t mind. She’s happy for the first time in a long time. Her tremors have slowly lessened and the nightmares don’t come to her as often as they had. She has a warm hand to hold and a soft mouth to kiss. She has a friend who’s interested in her intelligence and possibly more.

“Dinner’s soon,” Draco murmurs, their lips brushing when he speaks. Hermione nods and pulls back from him. She looks down at their clasped hands and uses the fingers of her other hand to run over the signet ring. Draco shivers at the touch.

“C’mon, let’s get inside,” Draco says and stands up. He tugs Hermione along with him and grins.

* * *

_Any news for me? Draco hardly writes and I find myself curious as to where his attention lies. You’re such a good friend to him and I know he shares with you._

_I’ve sent some treacle tart, your favourite._

_NM_

Theo groans and rereads the letter. He thunks his head down onto the desk in his shared suite with Draco and closes his eyes. It was only a matter of time before she’d written to him. To be quite honest, it had taken longer than he’d thought. 

He’d been true to his word to Draco and stopped sharing information with the Lady Malfoy. In fact, he’d stopped writing to her all together. His relationship with the matriarch of the Malfoy family was purely innocent, and more that of a son and mother than anything else. He’d lost his own mother as a baby and Mrs. Malfoy had stepped into that space for him on many occasions. 

Draco knew and understood. He was happy to share his mother with him so long as Theo didn’t pass along information he wasn’t ready to tell his parents. Unfortunately, anything involving Hermione was off limits. It was also exactly what Mrs. Malfoy wanted to know about.

He felt guilty for ignoring the woman, even more so that she’d sent him a treacle tart - his favourite - but he swore to Draco he wouldn’t tell her anything. His thoughts are interrupted when the door to the suite opens and Draco enters with a sickening smile on his face. Theo scrambles to fold the note and pushes the treacle tart under his textbook.

“Going to come up for dinner?” Draco asks him and takes off his cloak, hanging it in his wardrobe.

Theo hums and stumbles through his words, “Dinner? Uh, um yeah. Dinner, I’ll go to dinner.”

Draco blinks at him in confusion. His eyes narrow and he takes a look around the room. He moves closer to Theo and closer to the desk, “What’s wrong?”

Theo plasters on a smile and shakes his head, “Nothing’s wrong! Were you with Hermione?”

Draco continues to peer at the desk but slowly nods, “Yes, we went for a walk around the grounds.”

Theo smiles and mouths “oh” in response. Theo stays seated and silent as Draco leans forward from where he’s standing. His eyes are still narrowed but after a few seconds they roll. 

“Heard from Mummy did you?”

Theo groans again and leans forward over the table, “Don’t call her that. She’s not my Mummy.”

Draco shrugs and slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, “Why’s she sending you treacle tart? Spilling more of my secrets?”

Theo shakes his head and pulls out the folded note, handing it to his best friend. Draco reads over the note and sighs, “She’s so nosy.”

Theo shrugs and pulls the treacle tart out from under his book. It’s a tiny bit squished but he’s sure it still tastes heavenly. He tries to hand it to Draco but Draco waves it off, “It’s yours Theo, she sent it for you.”

“Yes, but in exchange for information that I can’t give her!”

Draco looks at the note again and chews the corner of his lip in thought. Theo looks down at the treacle tart and pulls aside the wax paper it’s wrapped in. The smell hits him immediately and he can’t stop the bite he takes. It’s too good.

“You won’t have to worry about spilling my secrets anymore,” Draco says, placing the note onto his own desk.

Theo lifts his eyebrows in question, his mouth full of the syrupy crumbly dessert. 

“I’m going to write to my mother and see if Hermione can come for the Easter holiday.”

Theo coughs as the graham cracker crust of the treacle tart sinks into his windpipe upon hearing Draco’s admission. What? _What?!_

“Wait,” Theo coughs again. “You want her to come to the Manor for Easter holiday?”

Draco nods once, his fingers creasing the note, “Yes. I’ve found that she’s...important to me.”

“Draco, Mate, I don’t think you’ve thought this through,” Theo tells him, standing from his desk chair and leaving the tart on the table. “You want her to meet your parents?”

Draco nods.

“At the Manor?”

Draco nods again. 

“In just a few weeks?”

Another nod from Draco, this time accompanied by a loud sigh, “Yes, Theo. Exactly as I said, I’d like Hermione to accompany me home for the Easter holiday.”

“Did you ask her already?” Theo asks, hoping the answer is ‘no.’

Draco shakes his head, “No, I wanted to ask my mother first if it would be alright.”

Theo brings a palm up to his face and runs it over his eyes. He grips his curls tightly in his hand before letting out a breath and sinking into his desk chair again. This is far more serious than Theo had thought it was. He likes Hermione: she’s intelligent and he gets along with her. She’s never once questioned him about past actions or made him feel like he ought to be in Azkaban instead of back at school. Instead, she’s done her best to understand him and Draco and the families they both come from.

They’re good for each other, Theo thinks to himself, but he knows there’s a strong possibility that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy won’t think so. Sure, Mrs. Malfoy is fine with a _dalliance_ while away at school, but a real relationship that could possibly lead to marriage and then...children. He didn’t envy Draco.

“I’m...glad you’ve realized she’s important to you, but I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Mate,” Theo says to Draco, a pinched look on his face. “And it’s not even your parents I’m thinking about.”

Well, he is, but he knows there’s a bigger hurdle to get over before his parents become an issue.

“The Manor, Draco. When’s the last time she was there?” Theo asks quietly. 

He watches Draco’s look of confusion before it morphs into understanding and a look of dread. Theo stands and pats Draco on the back in a comforting manner. 

“Shite,” Draco mutters under his breath.

Theo wets his lips, “I’m not saying she won’t go, but I think you need to be prepared for her to be uncomfortable with it.”

Draco slowly nods and groans. He sits on the end of his bed and rests his head in his hands, “I didn’t even think about that.”

Theo nods. Clearly, he thinks to himself. He takes a seat next to his friend and rests a long arm across his shoulders, “I’m not trying to burst the bubble, Draco. I swear I’m not. I like Hermione, genuinely. You know I’d tell you if I didn’t, after all, I told you straight to your face that Parkinson was-”

Draco holds his hand up, “Yes, I got it thank you. We don’t need to speak ill of someone who’s not even here.”

Theo shrugs. Pansy Parkinson is a cowardly little bitch and he’d tell anyone who’s willing to listen, “I’m just saying. Even if your mother agrees, you need to be ready for Hermione to say no.”

Draco nods, “You’re right.”

Theo grins to himself, of course he’s right. He stands up and stretches, going over to put his shoes back on, “Now c’mon, you said something about dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Etude** : The Etudes are interesting, in that for a long time they weren't publicly available and the only opportunity to listen to them was when you had a chance to see Philip Glass play them. Luckily for us, they've now been recorded.
> 
> Enjoy xx


	16. Volière

#  _Volière._

* * *

[ Carnival of the Animals: No.10 Volière](https://open.spotify.com/track/39Yh0oTTgVdHpMbdFuXQG0?si=cc1fbfade3df4790)  
Written by: Camille Saint-Saëns  
Performed by: Saint Petersburg Radio and TV Symphony Orchestra, Stanislav Gorkovenko

* * *

The library is warm when Hermione enters it and she gives a small smile to Madam Pince before walking through the maze of shelves. Just as she comes around the corner she sees Draco’s familiar blond hair and grins when she notices Theo next to him; she hasn’t seen the brunette Slytherin in a while, not since her relationship with Draco had started to evolve. 

She goes around to her side of the table and plops down in the empty chair, swinging her bag around to rest on the chair next to her. Theo looks up at her with a wide grin, “Well hello Hermione.”

“Hi Theo,” Hermione says back to him, grin still on her lips.

“Long time no see,” Theo says to her, twirling his quill around in his fingers.

She finally turns to look at Draco and feels the faintest hint of a blush coat her cheeks when she sees him staring intently into her eyes. She pulls the corner of her lip into her mouth but lets it loose when Draco stares pointedly. Not even a week ago Draco had emitted a sound akin to a growl and insisted she stop chewing on her lip. 

“I guess it has been a while,” Hermione says, giving Draco a small wink. “Hardly my fault though, Draco doesn’t share well.”

Theo rolls his eyes and snorts, “You have no idea. He’s been bad at sharing since he was just a wee tyke.”

Draco flicks a glare to his friend, “Thank you Theo.”

Theo throws his hands up and shrugs his shoulders, “Just letting her know the truth, Mate.”

Hermione reaches into her school bag and pulls out her Transfiguration textbook, flipping to the chapter on advanced human transfiguration. She’d been looking forward to this part of the class and had been frustrated that they’d only learned simple transfigurations before her jaunt through the woods. More advanced transfigurations would’ve made her poor go at Ron for their journey into Gringotts a whole lot easier.

She pulls her parchment out and starts to take notes while Theo and Draco indulge in a casual argument about what’s appropriate to share with her. She interrupts only once to tell them that she’d prefer if there were no secrets being kept from her, which starts a whole other conversation.

“I don’t keep secrets from you,” Draco insists, his attention on her face as she writes her notes on her parchment. 

Theo is guffawing next to him, “You keep secrets from everyone, Draco.”

“Not from her,” he hisses at his friend. “I don’t, Hermione. I’d just prefer if Theo didn’t share all of my business with everyone.”

Hermione shrugs her shoulders, not bothered here or there. Their _relationship_ , if one could even call it that, is still new and he’s bound to have secrets. She certainly does, nothing extreme, but things she’s kept to herself for so long she’s not sure what good it would do to tell someone else. Things that not even Harry and Ron know.

“Draco, it’s alright,” Hermione says, reaching her hand over to place it on top of his. “It doesn’t bother me, honestly.”

Draco still looks bothered but he nods his head and squeezes her hand when she pats it. He grumbles and goes back to his textbook, expressly ignoring Theo who’s still sat with the same grin on his face.

“You, stop,” Hermione admonishes Theo. “I know you do it on purpose.”

Theo shrugs and tilts his head to the side, “Maybe.”

Hermione goes back to her work for only a few minutes before she hears the familiar laugh of her friend. She looks up to the shelves and sees Ginny walking towards the table with a bright smile on her face. She doesn’t have her bookbag on her but she’s carrying a bit of parchment that looks like a letter.

“Hi ‘Mione,” Ginny says, moving Hermione’s bag off the chair and taking a seat. “Malfoy, Nott.”

Draco says hello back but Theo throws Ginny a wink. Hermione rolls her eyes and reminds herself to have a conversation with Theo about his actions around the redheaded Witch. Ginny’s temper can flare in an instant and although Theo annoyed Draco sometimes, they are best friends.

“Hi Gin, what’s that?”

Ginny holds the parchment out but doesn’t say anything else. She leans back in the chair and waits for Hermione to finish reading. It’s short, just a few lines, but the words put a smile on her lips and she does everything in her power to keep in the shriek she wants to let loose.

“This is amazing! Did you just get this?” Hermione asks, keeping her excitement mostly contained. Before she can hand the note back to Ginny, Theo plucks it from her hand and reads it over.

“Just now, I went racing through the castle to find you. Figured you’d be in here with these two,” Ginny says. “I’m going to write to Harry tonight, see maybe if he can come for the game on the weekend.”

Hermione leans over to wrap Ginny in a hug, squeezing her tight. 

“Holyhead? No shite, Weasley,” Theo says, sounding impressed. He passes the note off to Draco who reads it and gives Hermione and Ginny a grin. “Congrats Ginny, that’s really great.”

Ginny flips her hair over her shoulder and winks at Hermione, “Thank you boys. They’re just coming to watch though, it’s not an official tryout or anything.”

“You’ll get one, there’s no way they’ll pass you up after they see you this weekend,” Hermione reassures her friend, nudging her with her shoulder.

Ginny gives her an excited and nervous grin, her face red but happy, “I don’t want to get too ahead of myself but...I mean, it is me.”

Theo gives a snort and Ginny fixes a glare on him before he shrugs his shoulders, “You’re good Weasley, you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Ginny nods with a sarcastic smile, “You’re right, I don’t.”

“Play nice,” Draco mutters, giving a light kick to Theo under the table. Theo groans but doesn’t say anything else. He leans down to rub at his shin and glares at the blond.

“Don’t need you to protect me, Malfoy,” Ginny bites out. Hermione sighs and pinches her arm. “I’m perfectly capable of dealing with Nott on my own.”

Draco puts his hands up and glances over to Hermione. She offers him a small smile and a sigh. Their friends are too hotheaded, too unwilling to _just be polite_. They each need to have the last word, prove something to everyone else around them. It gets tiring, honestly, but she wouldn’t change Ginny even if she did have the choice. 

“Pains in the arse,” she hears Draco mutter under his breath. She giggles and he grins when he sees her smile. Hermione allows him to capture her hand in his, holding it softly and rubbing his thumb on her skin.

“We could leave them be and go somewhere else,” Hermione whispers, eyeing their friends who’ve now devolved into an argument.

Draco hums and winks at her, “I’d never say no to that.”

Hermione leans forward in her seat eyeing Ginny and Theo carefully before she moves forward more and presses her lips to Draco’s in a quick but firm peck on the lips. She pulls back just as quickly, her bottom half back comfortably in her seat.

She thinks she gets away with it too, at first, until Ginny turns on them with her barely-raised voice coming out in a hiss, “And you two! You kissed in the snow and then all of a sudden became this strange version of Hermione and Malfoy!”

Hermione’s jaw drops at being pulled into the argument but before she can reply Theo groans and slaps the table with his hand, “Right? All of a sudden they go off together all the time, leaving me out of everything!”

Draco’s mouth pops open this time, ready to retort but unable to compete with Ginny’s shriek, “Oh Merlin, if I have to look at her dreamy-eyed face one more time, I swear…”

Hermione frowns, “I do _not_ have a dreamy-eyed face…”

Theo snorts again, “I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the sickening smile on his face all the time. On Draco, of all people! I miss the murderous glare he used to wear.”

Draco tilts his head down, exasperation taking over his features and his shoulders growing stiff. He looks back up to Theo and Hermione’s _fairly certain_ this is the murderous glare he was just talking about.

“Theo, shut up.”

“You shut up, Malfoy,” Ginny glares at Draco. 

Theo grins at the redhead Witch across from him before turning to look back at Draco, “Yeah, _you_ shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco groans and starts to shovel his belongings into his bookbag. Hermione follows suit, sliding her parchment and textbook back into her bag while avoiding the loud conversation between Theo and Ginny. Draco comes around the table to grasp Hermione’s hand to pull her away from the table.

“Wait, where are you going?” Theo asks, half standing up from the table.

Just before Hermione and Draco round the corner Madam Pince appears, her face pinched in annoyance. She heads straight to their table and glares at Theo and Ginny who are still sitting, “Mr. Nott, Miss Weasley. I can hear you both from the entrance to the library. If you cannot control yourselves I must ask you to leave!”

Draco chuckles next to her and pulls her down the aisle towards the entrance before Madam Pince can admonish them as well. They exit the library and wander a few steps before Hermione starts to giggle and yanks him back to stand beside her.

“Oh Gods, Merlin help us if those two decide to become friends,” Hermione says, looking up to Draco. He stands considerably taller than her, with thick broad shoulders and long arms. His body looks like it could be built for violence, but he’s never touched her with anything but the tenderest hand. 

“Where are we off to then, Sweetheart?” Draco asks her, brushing a finger down her cheek.

Hermione flushes at the affectionate term and hums, enjoying his touch on her cheek, “I mean, we could go back to Gryffindor. I do have my own room…”

Draco moves his hand to rest on his chin, looking up to the ceiling as if deep in thought, “Your room? Well, as long as it’s for studying purposes.”

Hermione laughs and tugs his hand so they’re walking towards the staircase, “Of course, just for studying.”

They walk the stairs quickly, both more than a little excited to get each other alone for the first time all week. Classes were taking their toll on both of them and the pressures of the upcoming N.E.W.T.s were starting to add additional stress to Hermione’s day. Her newfound _relationship_ with the Slytherin cut into an awful lot of time that would have otherwise been spent studying.

They walk down the hall towards the Gryffindor Common Room and Hermione whispers the password to the Fat Lady. She turns a glare on Draco but opens the portrait anyways. Hermione releases a soft breath when she sees there’s only a few first and second years in the common room and pulls Draco up to where he room is located.

Once inside, Draco wanders the short length of her room, stopping to look at the pictures lining the top of her wardrobe. She smiles as she walks closer to look at the photos with him of her with her parents on the beach and with Ron and Harry at the Burrow.

Draco pulls the picture with her parents down and takes a closer look. It’s a muggle photo, still unlike the others in her room. It was taken by a kind passerby on her last trip to Australia and she’s standing in the middle of her parents.

“Quite the cossie,” Draco says softly with a smirk on his lips. Hermione rolls her eyes and goes to grab the photo out of his hands, but he holds it up high, too high for her to reach without trying to jump.

“It’s perfectly innocent, Draco,” Hermione insists. “I mean I was with my parents, I just wanted to get a bit of a tan.”

Draco quirks an eyebrow at her and his eyes glint in the candle light of her room. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth without realizing as she sees the hungry look that’s filled his face, “Maybe you’ll just have to show me your tan lines then.”

Hermione scoffs and goes to grab the photo again but Draco grabs her wrist instead, pulling her closer into his body. He puts the photo back on the wardrobe and moves that hand up to her face, cupping her jaw. His thumb brushes against her bottom lip and she slowly lets it go from the trap of her teeth.

“Thought I told you to stop doing that,” Draco says softly, his eyes focused on her lips.

Hermione sucks in a breath, “You...may have.”

Draco tuts at her, clicking his tongue three times, “I know habits can be hard to break.”

Hermione tilts her head up to him, her breath coming out in small puffs, “Why does it bother you?”

Draco chuckles, tapping her lip with his finger. He presses a light kiss to her lips and Hermione sighs into his mouth, eyes closing at the feeling. She presses her lips harder into his and can’t help the small noise she makes when he pulls away.

“It doesn’t bother me, it just makes me want to kiss you,” Draco admits, taking his hand off of her face. He steps back from her with a small smile and lets go of her other wrist.

Hermione smiles at his admission and sits down on her bed. She toes her shoes off and sits back against the wall, patting the spot next to her. Draco leans down to take off his own shoes and eases himself down onto her bed. He lets his arm rest on top of her leg, his fingers drawing patterns on the small sliver of skin between her skirt hem and her knee socks. 

Hermione glances down, “We should probably study.”

Draco nods his head but doesn’t reply, just keeps tracing lines and circles and crosses against the soft skin of her thigh. Hermione feels her breath hitch in her throat at the tickling touches. She reaches down to cover his hand with her own and Draco looks up at her.

“I want to ask you something,” Draco says softly, his fingers gripping her leg. Not too tight, but just enough for her to know he’s worried. His shoulders are tense and she moves her hand up to his back. She rubs small circles into the muscle.

It’s not often that Draco looks nervous. She’s seen anxiety in his body before, showing itself in his eyes and mouth, sometimes in the way he walks as if every step takes all of his energy. But this is different, she thinks, this feels like something else.

“Of course, Draco,” Hermione says. “Anything.”

She watches Draco take a deep breath, “I feel like we’ve gotten very close. I can’t remember feeling like this with anyone else. To be honest, I hardly feel like this with my parents on good days.”

Hermione offers him a smile but doesn’t interrupt him.

“And you know how grateful I am for having you in my life, how important you’ve become to me,” Draco says slowly.

Hermione’s heart shifts in her chest. Here it comes, she thinks. She’d thought from the beginning that at a certain point he’d no longer want to continue this with her. She had thought it was going well, thought that they were growing closer and closer by the day. But this had always been a possibility.

Hermione sighs and stops Draco before he can continue, “I understand, Draco.”

Draco shakes his head and opens his mouth to continue but Hermione starts before he can, “I understand if you’d just like to go back to being friends.”

Draco shifts his body until he can wrap his arms around her. She tucks her arm that was behind his back into her chest and rests her head against his shoulder. She closes her eyes and enjoys the last bit of comfort she’ll get from him.

“I can’t believe you think I want to go back to being friends.”

Hermione’s eyes flick open at his words and her breath stops. What?

“You silly girl,” Draco mutters, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss into her hair, along her forehead, down her cheeks. He rubs her arm with his hand and tilts her head up until she’s looking into his eyes, “This is not me pushing you away.”

She feels her brows furrow but she waits for him to continue, to explain what he’d been talking about.

“What are you doing over the Easter holiday?” He asks instead.

Hermione’s mouth opens and closes a few times as her thoughts run wild, “I was just going to stay here. It’s not a very long break.”

Draco nods and she rests her head back against his chest, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped tightly around her. She closes her eyes, breathing in his familiar woodsmoke and peony scent - his cologne, she’d found out.

“I’d like you to come home with me over the Easter break,” Draco says finally. Before she can move back from his arms, he tightens his grip around her and continues, “Just listen, please.”

She chews her bottom lip - it’s not as if he can see it - and slowly nods against him.

“You make the nightmares better, you make the tremors go away and I want you to be there with me,” Draco says. “I’d like you to meet my mother and I want to spend time with you outside of school. I’d like you to be with me instead of on your own.”

“And I know there’s the issue of the Manor. I completely understand if you don’t want to come back with me. All I can do is tell you that it’s been renovated to the point where it’s no longer recognizable,” he continues. “But, it’s your choice and I will respect your decision if you don’t feel you can be there.”

Hermione whistles out a breath into his chest and squeezes her eyes shut. She can feel the tears building, the burning in her eyes and she tries to keep her breaths quiet once he stops speaking. Could she do it? Could she go back to Malfoy Manor?

She had been honest with Draco when she’d said her nightmares did not place her at the Manor. Her nightmares were always in the forest, but she _had_ dreamed of being at the Manor. She could still remember the cold floor beneath her back, the chandelier hanging above her head. She could even see Draco in it, just pieces of him. Black suit hanging off of his skeletal body, eyes wide in fear. 

She lightly pushes back against his chest so she can be at eye level with him. She grasps one of his hands in her own, fingers playing with his and holding them for comfort, “I did not expect that Draco.”

Draco rolls his eyes, “Clearly. Instead you were ready to let me push you away.”

Hermione shakes her head at the insinuation, “That’s not it. I just...I don’t want to stand in your way. You deserve to be happy and if you don’t want to be with me then you don’t have to.”

“I do, so it doesn’t matter.”

Hermione nods and can’t help the smile that graces her lips, “Now, let me finish before you say anything, alright?”

He nods, grey eyes looking into her brown ones.

“I would like to go with you,” she starts. “You do the same for me; you make my nightmares better too, you take away my tremors as well. And I want nothing more than to spend more time with you.”

Draco gives her a sad smile, “But?”

“Not a but, exactly. I just need some time to think it over. I want to come with you, I do. I just need to make sure that it’s not going to…”

Hermione trails off, unsure of how honest she wants to be with him. To put it simply, she’d taken one step inside a forest in Australia with her parents and collapsed in an instant. The sight of the trees and the smell of the dewy grass had brought her right back to the moments of loneliness she’d had stuck in the various forests of England. The sight of an upturned root is what had done it though, placing her back in the Forest of Dean running away from the snatchers. A similar root had upended her then too.

She doesn't want that to happen with the Manor. She doesn't want to be unable to look at Draco again.

“I need to make sure it’s not going to break me, I need to know that I can go with you and come back if not the same, then better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Volière** : A volière is an Aviary. Another piece from the Carnival of Animals, just a cute and light tune to go with the conversations in this chapter.
> 
> I generally try to work on one thing at a time so as to not get them confused and mix personalities or narratives. This goes for my actual work too. But, a narrative came to me just this week and I found myself unable to resist it. The good news: expect another story likely in the next week. The better news: it will not impede my two-updates-a-week for this story.
> 
> Enjoy xx


	17. Juliet

#  _Juliet._

* * *

[ Romeo and Juliet, Op. 64, Act 1: No. 13, Dance of the Knights](https://open.spotify.com/track/7HSs4srn1qnZhh7WRWBVOk?si=953ff593790b4a46)   
Written by: Sergei Profokiev   
Performed by: André Previn, London Symphony Orchestra

* * *

It’s been two whole weeks since she’s felt the familiar tremors running through her shoulders, down her arms and wrists and cramping her fingers. Two entire weeks of relaxed muscles. It’s amazing what the mind can forget; she’d heard women describe their pregnancies like that. In the moment, during labour, they’d swear there was _no chance_ they’d ever do this again. Then they’d hold their child, kiss chubby cheeks and little fingers and toes and before they knew it, they were considering a sibling. Nine months later, they’d swear there was _no chance_ they’d ever do this again.

Of course, there wasn’t a child at the end of the tunnel for her. This wasn’t something she’d chosen to do again and again and again. All the same, she’d nearly forgotten about the pain and she was wholly unprepared at the first sign. She was cold that morning, but she’d shrugged it off as a chill. Her neck was tense through class, but she’d stretched and waved off the concerned looks from Ginny and Draco. It wasn’t until she was standing in front of her desk in her room, a cramp forming along her shoulder that she realized what she had been ignoring all day.

She might have said it started suddenly, but the signs were all there. The pain started suddenly, a gash down her arm, a rip in her back, her knuckles bending unnaturally. Her legs give out at the sheer force of the tremors. With a crash she hits the hard ground and isn’t able to stop the blaring scream as the most painful shakes, tremors and cramps tear through her whole body. 

It’s as if someone is casting the Cruciatus at her over and over and over again. If she had been able to, she would’ve searched her room for the faint shimmer of magic that would tell her someone was there with her. As it is, she can’t open her eyes - or, she can’t see. Everything is black but the pain sears white hot. Her knees knock together, her nails puncture holes in her palms. She feels the cramp travel down her spine, feels as though her bones are splintering in her body, puncturing her organs and skin.

At the first few seconds of relief, she runs her hands over her body to check for blood. She’s sure she’s bleeding, she’s sure her bones are grotesquely sticking out of her body. They aren’t though and before she can think the pain travels through her body again.

And again and again and again.

When the tremors are no more than shakes, she carefully pulls herself up into a sitting position to lean against her bed. Her breath is ragged and her throat raw from the brutal screams. Sweat drips down her forehead, coats her ringed curls along the side of her face and pours down her neck. Her shirt is soaked and in her erratic movements on the floor she’s ripped her sock from knee to ankle. Her legs and arms are weak and she can’t find the strength to push herself up.

Swallowing any and all dignity she might have, she crawls. She pulls herself along her floor to get closer to her desk. With a grunt she forces her arm to the drawer in the middle of her desk. She can’t pull it open, not able or willing to tense the muscles that are finally relaxed.

She has magic though. A quick look around the floor and she sees her wand has rolled underneath her bed. Gritting her teeth, she closes her eyes and focuses on the spell and its movement, focuses on her desk drawer opening. With all the strength she can muster she waves her hand and nearly cries in relief when the drawer pops open with so much force it slams into the ground. Her quills scatter, her inkpots crack open and scraps of parchment float around the room.

There, the glass jar. She pulls herself over to the small glass jar containing the miracle balm and using her mouth, twists the lid off. She twists, resting on the opposite hip and thigh for not even a second before silent scream emanates from her mouth. A searing pain roars through her leg and Hermione throws herself back onto the floor in an effort to roll off the injury.

Her head thunks to the floor and she sees spots. Her vision darkens for a split second before she forces her eyes open again. She pain in her leg radiates up the entire side of her body and she huffs out harsh breaths in an effort to remain calm.

A sharp knock reverberates on her door, “‘Mione? You didn’t make it down for dinner…”

The voice trails off and Hermione’s almost embarrassed at the squeak that comes out, followed by a breathy, “Gin.”

She clears her throat and tries again but manages an equally quiet, “Ginny.”

Hermione slaps her palm on the ground and lets out a near silent groan of frustration. Of course, this is the one time Ginny would give her privacy, the one time she wouldn’t barge in regardless of her state of dress or consciousness. 

The knock sounds again, “Hermione? If you don’t answer I’m coming in anyways.”

Hermione sucks in a breath, tears streaming from her eyes again. Her vision is blurry again, spots and stars filling her eyes. She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees the door slowly open and Ginny’s bright red hair peek into the room.

“Ginny,” she breathes out.

“Hermione? Oh my god, Hermione! What happened?”

Hermione shakes her head, her vision tunneling and only small flashes of her surrounding making it through. She mumbles her name again, a plea when the redhead disappears from her view.

Her vision is nearly completely gone, the edges of unconsciousness trying to pull her under. A flick of red hair and the feeling of a hand on her cheek make her open her eyes one last time.

“Stay with me ‘Mione,” Ginny mutters. “Neville’s getting help.”

“She needs Madam Pomfrey.”

“I know, I know. you need to help me move her.”

“We’ll have to levitate her.”

“Okay, levitate, yes. Wait! I need to tell Malfoy.”

“Let’s get her there first Gin, then you ca-”

Hermione’s eyes flutter closed.

* * *

The sound of his shoes against the stone floor echo in his head, the sound bouncing off the walls sounding overly loud in the silence. He pushes open one of the doors to the hospital wing, cringing at the creak in the wood, and slowly and quietly walks to the back of the wing. A row of curtains have been arranged to block off the back wall in an effort to give some privacy and peace and quiet.

Theo carefully pushes one of the curtains aside to squeeze into the space. His eyes flick to the sleeping redheaded Witch lying across two chairs. Her eyes are squeezed shut, a tense expression on her face. He can see her fists clenched even in sleep. His shoes tap quietly as he walks over to the Slytherin sitting facing him.

“How’s she doing?”

Draco lifts his eyes from the bed to look up at him and he shrugs, lifting one shoulder up to his ear. Hermione’s asleep, her brown mop of hair floating around her head. Unlike the Weasley Witch, her face is peaceful, a side effect from the potions she’s on, he’s sure. Her chest rises and falls every few seconds and the only hint that she’s injured are the bandages wrapped around her palms and the cushions underneath her left leg.

“Pomfrey gave her dreamless sleep, said the best thing for her muscles is to sleep,” Draco mutters softly, his fingers reaching out to lightly run over her arm.

Theo nods, “Her leg?”

Draco lets out a sickened groan, “She dislocated her hip.”

Theo shakes his head and takes a seat on the other chair, opposite of Draco. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a rough breath at the site of the Gryffindor. He can still feel the remnants of the adrenaline rushing through his veins and he looks back over to the redhead. He remembers the fear in her eyes when she’d come rushing into the library just hours before.

_“M-Malfoy, you need to come,” Ginny stuttered. “It’s Hermione.”_

_Theo had looked sharply over at his friend at the mention of the Witch who preoccupied most of the Slytherin’s thoughts. From how Ginny looked - afraid, shaking and out of breath - it couldn’t have been good._

_“What happened?” Draco asked, voice stern and clear, standing from the table in the library._

_“I-I-I don’t know. She’s h-hurt, you need to come,” Ginny repeated before she turned around to walk out of the library._

_Draco turned to Theo but he waved his hand, “Go. I’ll get your stuff.”_

Theo had grabbed their stuff from the library and dumped it back in their room in the dungeons before he made his way to the hospital wing. He was steps from entering the infirmary when Professor McGonagall had poked her head out the door and told him to come back in an hour.

_“But-” he’d tried to push._

_“In an hour, Mr. Nott.”_

So Theo had wandered the castle for the next hour, his feet leading him around the dungeons, through the great hall, all over the library and around the grounds. While walking he’d realized how worried he actually was for Hermione. He considered her a friend, and his friend was apparently hurt.

“What happened?” Theo asks, looking back at Hermione.

Draco sighs and clasps his hands together, his elbows resting on his knees, “We’re not sure. Ginny found her on the floor in her room, said it looked like her desk had exploded. I think she must have had an attack though, she had the jar in her hand when they brought her here.”

Draco flicks his hand over towards the side table where the familiar glass jar sits. Theo nods his head, accepting the explanation and lets out a whistling sigh. For that much damage, for her to dislocate her _hip_ , she must have been in an incredible amount of pain. He looks back up at Draco only for him to nod, understanding his thoughts.

“I know, Theo,” Draco says, running his hand through his hair, a look of pain on his own face. “It must have been horrible, it must have been exactly like…”

Theo closes his eyes. He had thought the same, it must have been exactly like being exposed to the Cruciatus. It was common for Witches and Wizards suffering the curse to cramp and twist and fight so hard they’d dislocate, sprain and break their own bones. Hermione was lucky she’d only dislocated her hip, she could have done so much worse.

He opens his eyes and sees Draco rubbing fingers over his forearm. Theo knows he’s running his fingers over the scar, the only mark to remind him of the broken radius he’d suffered at the hands of his insane aunt. She hadn’t allowed him a break, hadn’t let him heal it until the bone had poked through the skin. 

“She’s been okay,” Draco whispers, his hand lightly touching the back of Hermione’s hand and avoiding the bandage. “She told me the tremors had mostly stopped. I...I don’t know what happened. During class I noticed her rubbing her neck and stretching it, I thought maybe it was a sign but she said it was fine.”

Theo leans back in the chair, the flickering light of the candle creating shadows on the wall and lets out a snicker, “She’s stubborn, like someone else I know.”

“Two most stubborn people I’ve ever met,” a rough murmur comes from behind them.

Theo turns to see Ginny sitting up and rubbing the heels of her palms over her eyes. She lets out a yawn and stands, stretching her arms high above her head. She looks tired.

“I noticed it too, Malfoy, this morning,” Ginny says, walking towards her friend and the two Slytherins. “I don’t think she realized it for what it was.”

Draco nods, a contemplative look on his face before he runs a hand over his face and readjusts himself on the chair. He looks uncomfortable but unwilling to move away from the Witch that’s grasped his attention.

He sees Draco’s eyes flick behind where he sits and Theo turns to see Madam Pomfrey sweep into the space, “Visiting hours are over.”

She shoos Theo out of the way and waves a diagnostic spell over Hermione’s body. Her vitals appear above and Theo wishes he knew what they said when Madam Pomfrey ends the spell without giving them an update. She holds open the curtain and waves them through. Theo sighs but goes to leave alongside Ginny.

“I’d like to stay the night,” Draco says quietly. He looks insistent, like he’s not going to stand up from his chair, no matter the circumstance.

Madam Pomfrey sighs, “Fine Mr. Malfoy. Let her sleep, don’t wake her.”

Theo wanders down the lines of beds with Ginny on his left side and holds the door open for her. She pauses and turns to the mediwitch, “She’s going to be alright?”

Madam Pomfrey gives them both a hesitant smile, “Yes, Miss. Weasley. She will be fine. Now go, it’s almost curfew.”

Theo follows her out of the room and they walk silently along the hallway until they reach the stairs. Theo’s about to bid her goodnight and head over to the dungeon staircase but changes his mind at the last minute.

“Let me walk you up,” Theo mutters softly and motions to the stairs.

Ginny rolls her eyes, “Not necessary, Nott. I’m a big girl, I can make it back to Gryffindor on my own.”

Theo shrugs and nods, “You’re right, you can. But I’d like to.”

“Suit yourself,” Ginny mumbles and starts up the stairs. Theo follows her, bounding up until he’s walking alongside her. She’s quiet, contemplative, and walking the route to the seventh floor like it’s the most familiar route in the world. It likely is for her.

By the time they make it to the fifth floor his calves are burning and he’s internally swearing. He doesn’t head up past the first few floors very often anymore and his already poor athletic ability is now non-existent. With a quiet grunt he starts up the stairs to the sixth floor, trying to keep pace with Ginny.

“Please, for the love of Merlin, go back down to the Dungeons before you have a heart attack,” Ginny grumbles at him.

Theo glares at her back and with a scowl matches her step for step, “Not a chance, Weasley.”

He sees her legs climb faster and her feet tap the floor harder as she rushes up the last steps to the sixth floor and darts over to the final staircase. He may not be athletic, but he doesn’t _lose_.

“Not so fast,” Theo hisses and forces his legs to move faster up the stairs. 

Ginny snorts with laughter, clearly enjoying his beyond poor performance. He thinks she slows down to let him feel like he’s going to beat her before she takes off at the top of the stairs, running far faster than he’d ever be able to all the way to the Fat Lady's portrait.

Theo groans in defeat when she makes it there before him and leans over, resting his hands on his knees as he pants. His hisses and stands up to stretch his lower back, feeling a stitch in his side. What was he thinking? Of course she could beat him in the race. 

“Pathetic, Nott,” she mutters, resting her hand on the stone wall beside her.

“Yeah, well…” Theo trails off, pulling in a deep breath. “Not like I work out every waking moment.”

Ginny remains quiet and he looks over to her, seemingly lost in thought. Her eyes are unfocused and her breaths are sharp.

“Alright?” He asks her.

Ginny glances back at him and clears her throat, nodding, “Yes, yes. I’m fine. I should...go inside.”

Theo nods and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks, “Well, goodnight.” He turns around and walks back to the stairs, a touch of a smile on his face. He’d been against it, at first, when Draco had wanted to become friends with Hermione. They were too different, they liked different things, hell, they fought on different sides during the war. 

He’d only ever had Draco as a true friend before though, and now he could see himself with two others. 

“Nott.”

Theo twists around, raising his eyebrows in question at the redhead standing down the hall, “Yes?”

Ginny shrugs her shoulders, “You Slytherins aren’t so bad”

Theo winks, “You Gryffindors neither.”

* * *

The first thing Hermione feels is a dull thudding pain in her head. She groans at the intrusion, her hand coming up to rub against her temples and alleviate some of the pressure. The next thing she feels is a rough material rubbing against her hand and her forehead. Then, the unfamiliar feeling of skin and skin.

She slowly opens her eyes, blinking against the dull light in the room and lets out a groan at the feeling of dizziness. The skin pressed against her moves and she flicks her eyes down to see a familiar head of blond hair moving against the blanket.

“What…” Hermione trails off, wincing at the state of her voice. She tries to clear it but the pain stops her, “Dra-”

“Shh,” he whispers, sitting up from where he’d been bent over, asleep. He reaches up to press his finger against her mouth, stopping any words from coming out of her mouth. “Let me get Madam Pomfrey.”

Hermione does her best to nod but stops as her head swirls with the motion. She closes her eyes again and listens to Draco’s footsteps and hushed voices outside of the curtains. She blinks and sees Madam Pomfrey bustle in, Draco behind her.

She closes her eyes at the mediwitch’s spell, the movement of the diagnostic making her dizzy. She lets out a big breath and waits for someone to tell her what the problem is. She remembers bits and pieces; her knees burning from hitting the floor, a burning pain in her thigh, black spots in her vision.

She tries to clear her throat again but Madam Pomfrey interrupts her, “I wouldn’t do that. Your throat is quite raw, dear.”

Hermione frowns but nods, looking at the older Witch and urging her to continue, “You hit your head and have a concussion. While there are spells, they’ll have to wait. Your hands are bandaged to stop you from puncturing your palms again and you dislocated your hip.”

“I’ve set your hip but it will be sore for a few days yet and with Mr. Malfoy’s help we were able to settle your tremors. I need to wait for the potions to leave your system before I can deal with your head, so I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here another night,” she continues, placing a pitcher of water and a glass next to her.

“No talking, I’ll be back soon.”

Hermione breathes out a sigh and leans back against the pillow behind her head. She watches Draco as he wanders around to the side of her bed and sits back down. His hand automatically moves forward to grasp hers and he squeezes it comfortingly. She can feel the burn of tears in her eyes and the shake in her shoulders when she tries to hold her sobs in.

“Are you hurting? What’s wrong Sweetheart?” Draco asks softly, using his thumb to brush a tear trailing down her cheek.

Hermione shakes her head mouthing the word, “no.” She makes sure he’s looking at her before she mouths, “How?”

Draco sighs and runs a hand through his hair, placing the other back over her hand, “Ginny ran down to the library last night and came and got me. She said she found you in your room, lying on the floor nearly passed out. You had the balm in your hand when she found you, did you have an attack?”

Hermione nods her head once, blinking down at their hands. She shifts in the bed, stretching out her back and lets out a deep sigh. “How long?” she mouths to Draco.

“Ginny found you last night, it’s only 10 in the morning. Madam Pomfrey gave you a dreamless sleep so you could relax your muscles,” Draco replies. “You scared me. I...You were in so much pain, your hip…”

Hermione lifts her hand up to rest against his cheek, trying to convey her feelings to him through her eyes. She settles for mouthing “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Draco mutters, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He shifts in his chair and undoes his shirt cuff so he can pull his sleeve up. When Hermione looks down she doesn’t see the scarred Dark Mark, but a different scar. This one is pale and slightly raised, jagged, and runs down a small section horizontally across his forearm. She reaches her finger down to drag it over the scar and looks at him questioningly.

“I broke it during the war. My aunt was...teaching me. I felt it break, I crashed into the floor and felt it immediately,” Draco says. “She wouldn’t stop, it must have been hours. When she finally did and I could get back to my mother, the bone had come through the skin.”

Hermione gasps, covering her mouth.

“It’s healed, it’s alright. I’m just...I’m glad it was only a dislocation, in your hip. It could have been much worse,” Draco says, looking at her with concern.

Hermione squeezes his hand and very carefully moves over in the bed. She tests her hip and finds it doesn’t hurt, other than a dull ache. With a small smile, she pats the side of the bed, knowing full well it’s too small to hold Draco comfortably, but wanting to feel him against her.

He frowns, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Hermione shakes her head and tugs on his hand. Draco sighs and toes off his shoes. He sneaks into the bed, sliding under her hip so she’s resting on him and he’s resting fully on the bed. She notices his feet hang off the end of the cot and she cuddles into his chest.

Her eyes swirl, the dizziness hitting her as she moves around in the cot, but the grin stays on her face. She looks up at Draco’s face, catching his stormy grey eyes and purses her lips for a kiss. Draco delivers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Juliet** : The most recognizable piece from the Romeo and Juliet ballet.
> 
> I will be posting a new story this week, which is quite a bit different from this one. Enjoy xx


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